


Remnants

by 3xy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3xy/pseuds/3xy
Summary: After Dawn dies in the battle against Glory, Buffy quits being a Slayer, goes to Los Angeles and starts anew.  Months later, Spike finds her, now a waitress at Helen's Kitchen, having no memory of him or the life she lived as the Slayer.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Reader/s: SeaPea (and dawnofme and All4Spike for the first 2 chapters)

She was happy.  
  
The gleam in her eyes, the broad smile that lit up her face, and the color in her cheeks said it all.  
  
Out of all the times he'd seen her, she'd never looked as radiant as this. There was a certain bounce to her step and a certain aura of peace that he hadn't seen in her, even when she'd been at her best.   
  
But seeing her like this gutted him. Waitressing was an honorable profession and there certainly wasn't anything wrong with it. But she was _the_ Slayer, _the_ Chosen One, and she was using her abilities to scribble customers' orders on her little notepad. She was bustling around, carrying trays of food and pouring coffee for the few weary-eyed customers. Was that how she planned to save the world now, then? Serving coffee to one desolate person at a time?  
  
And all the while, her friends were stuck in Sunnydale, killing and defeating as many demons as they could without her, barely surviving what had become of the town. And the fact that the person they needed the most had abandoned them in the hardest of times made things worse.  
  
Dawn had died and, in some ways, she had too.  
  
That night still haunted him in his dreams – Dawn's lifeless body sprawled on the cracked earth, Buffy's devastating wail that stretched out for what felt like an eternity. He blamed himself for it all. Buffy had counted on him and he had failed her. If only he'd done things differently; if only he'd been faster, had fought harder. If only he hadn't broken his promise to her, to protect Dawn. Maybe then he would have had saved them both.  
  
He'd been tracking her for more than a month now and had finally found a lead. His sources, though they proved to be unreliable most of the time, had told him she worked at a diner, Helen's Kitchen, and rented a small place nearby.  
  
They'd told him she probably wouldn't recognize him and he shouldn't even bother.  
  
But he was never one to listen, was he?  
  
The ringing of the little bell of the diner's door joined the clattering of dishes being washed and the soft chatter of the other waitresses and the few customers. Spike's eyes were still trained on Buffy as he moved to the counter and sat on one of the stools.  
  
He said nothing. He didn't know where to start.  
  
The last time he'd seen her, she and her friends had been arguing. They'd tried to stop her from leaving, but nothing they'd said had gotten through to her.  
  
She was done. Just done.  
  
He hadn't even bothered to reason with her knowing full well no one could change her mind, least of all him, once she'd made it up. He'd offered to go with her, however, but she wouldn't have him.  
  
"You don't have to stay," she'd told him. "You could go anywhere. There's nothing for you here."  
  
She had been right, of course. But he had stayed and had fought by her friends' sides. He'd waited and waited, hoping that she would come back, until he'd finally grown impatient and had set out to find her.  
  
And now she was here.  
  
Buffy approached him with a smile – a smile he had not seen in so long – as she dug around in her pockets.  
  
"Hi!" she said, greeting him as if he were just another customer, and pulled out a silver clicking pen and a notepad. He leaned forward with his elbows on the counter, his gut wrenching with the need to touch her, to shake her out of this mediocrity. "What can I get you?" she asked. She flipped the notepad open and brought her pen to the paper.  
  
"I'm looking for Buffy." He hated the faint quaver of fear and desperation in his voice. "I was told she worked here." He searched her eyes, looking for a hint of recollection when she heard the name. The name he'd joked about, the name he'd never really called her by.  
  
"I'm sorry." She grimaced. "I don't know anyone by that name," she said, rubbing at the sudden goosebumps on her arms.  
  
Spike cocked his head and glanced at the nametag on her chest. "Anne?"  
  
"Yep. That's me." She tapped her nametag with the end of her pen. "Now, what can I get you?"  
  
If his sources were right, her shift was ending soon. So he settled for a beverage he knew he wasn't even going to drink. "Coffee would be fine, pet."  
  
She smiled warmly at the nickname and grabbed the coffee pot from its perch behind her and a mug from underneath the counter. Once she poured him a cup, she glanced up at him and their eyes met. Her cheeks flushed from Spike's eyes boring into her own, and she quickly looked away. "Anything else?"  
  
"No, thanks." Spike held the cup close to him in both hands, letting its warmth comfort him for the time being. She'd been away for so long. He'd missed her too much. And now that she was here, he didn't know what to do.  
  
"Okay." She grinned at him again and started to walk away.  
  
"Wait," he said, and she immediately spun around to face him. "I, uhm..." He chuckled softly, staring at his cup of coffee. "Never mind."  
  
"Okay, then," she said. "Let me know if you need anything else."  
  
Spike sighed as she walked over to a newly arrived customer. He had no other choice but to wait until her shift was over. Hopefully, he wouldn't be such a Nancy boy by then.  
  
He waited for her outside Helen's Kitchen for an hour, constantly peering through the glass doors to check if her shift was ending or if she'd already gone and he'd missed her. When he saw that she was finally taking her stained apron off while talking to a waitress who had just arrived, he leaned against the wall again and waited for her to come out of the diner.  
  
He called out to her as she passed by him. "Buf–" he stopped himself, and then hesitated before saying her name again. "Anne."  
  
She whirled around, surprised. Her face softened when she saw it was him. "Hi," she said, and walked towards him. "You're still here."  
  
"I, uh..." Spike pushed himself off the wall and rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "I was actually waiting for you."  
  
She pulled her coat tighter around her, her brows creasing in worry. "You were?"  
  
Spike sensed her sudden fear and tried to turn the stalker-slash-psychopath vibe off. "I'm new in town, and you were the first person who wasn't the least bit rude to me."  
  
Buffy let out a deep breath and slightly relaxed. "It _is_ kind of part of my job description." She smiled shyly. "But if you want, I could help you look for that girl."  
  
"Yeah?" he said, getting excited that she was warming up to him. "I'd like that."  
  
"Great."  
  
"Name's Spike, by the way." He cringed at the name he'd used to introduce himself. Great first impression that would make.  
  
"Spike?" She repeated his name, an eyebrow quirked curiously.  
  
Spike chuckled quietly as he ran a hand nervously through his blond locks. "It's a nickname."  
  
"Got it." She nodded once. "Nice to meet you, Spike," she said, reaching out to shake his hand.  
  
Spike couldn't bear the agony of holding her hand in his, knowing that she had no idea who she was and what she meant to him. He jerked his hand from her grip quickly, as if he'd just been burned.  
  
She stepped back in surprise and they stood in awkward silence for a moment.  
  
"I should get going," she finally said, pointing behind her with her thumb.  
  
He didn't want to leave her. Ever. "Can I walk you home?"  
  
"It's going to be a really quick walk 'cause I live just over there." She pointed at the building right across from the diner and looked up at it. "Well, one of the rooms there."  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
"Okay," she said softly and started walking alongside him. "So, how long will you be staying here?"  
  
"I don't know yet. Might be a few days. Weeks. Depends."  
  
"Until you find her? Buffy?"  
  
"Yeah." He cast her a sideways glance. "Until I find her."  
  
Buffy nodded. "This is me." She gestured at the building behind her. "Anytime you want to take me up on that offer, just drop by the diner, okay?"  
  
"All right." Spike couldn't help but smile widely. He liked the attention she was giving him. If this were back in Sunnydale, she would never have given him the time of day.  
  
"Bye." She waved and jogged up the steps.  
  
He waved back, and as she stepped inside the building he whispered, "Bye, Buffy."  
  
A sense of relief settled over him as he realized Buffy didn't know him as the monster that he was and that she had no memory of all the horrible things he'd done, especially to her and her friends. It might give them a chance to start afresh. Things might have been better between them if he hadn't started things off with "I kill you" a few years ago.  
  
That seemed like a lifetime ago.  
  
He stood outside her window, watching her walk back and forth across the room. When he saw that she'd finally turned her lights off, he walked over to the nearest phone booth. Giles would want to know that he'd found her.  
  
After overhearing one of Spike's phone calls, Giles had found out that Spike had been searching for Buffy. But instead of lecturing him as Spike had expected, Giles had wanted in, even though he'd been the one who'd told the Scoobies not to look for her.  
  
"It's me," Spike said with a tone of urgency as soon as Giles picked up the phone.  
  
"Have you found her?" Giles asked anxiously.  
  
"Yeah." Spike nodded, a hand on his hip.  
  
Giles heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. Good."  
  
"I'll call you when we'll be heading back."  
  
"Where are you? It might be best if I go–"  
  
"I'll call you," Spike said wearily and cut the conversation off.  
  
Stepping out of the phone booth, Spike took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one as he looked up at one of the second floor windows once more. Buffy was there. He could feel her.  
  
He took a drag of his cigarette.  
  
He needed to bring her back.  
  


**********

  
  
Willow stared at the crystal and map in her hands. Just like every other night, she itched to do a human-variety locator spell. It had become a ritual, this back and forth, but she had never tried to do it – find Buffy. Closing her eyes as she let out a deep breath, she placed the items back into their pouch and stashed it behind the books on the shelf.  
  
She made her way up to the Summers' master bedroom, which she and Tara had been using. That room was the only logical choice when they decided to be caretakers of the house. When Buffy came back, they wanted her to find her room exactly as it was before. But more than that, it was a way of reassuring themselves that Buffy was, in fact, going to come home.  
  
She stopped in front of Dawn's room and glanced at the locked door. She and Tara hadn't even needed to talk about the possibility of staying in her room. They'd known they wouldn't be able to bear the constant reminder of her, their loss, and of their defeat.  
  
Sighing, she entered the master bedroom as quietly as she could. To her surprise, Tara was awake. She was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard and frowning disappointedly at her.  
  
"Hey. Sorry, did I wake you?" Willow said, struggling to hide the expression on her face that said she'd just been caught.  
  
Tara folded her arms over her chest, giving Willow a reprimanding glare. "I know what you're doing."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Willow stammered, tucking her hair behind her ear. As she moved closer to the bed, she avoided Tara's gaze.  
  
"You've been sneaking out after I fall asleep to do a locator spell," Tara said matter-of-factly.  
  
Willow huffed. "But I don't do it. I just... contemplate doing it. There's a difference."  
  
"She needs time, Willow."  
  
In a gesture of despair, Willow dropped her arms. "And three months isn't enough?"  
  
"She just lost her sister," Tara said, voice quiet. "The only family she had left."  
  
"But we're her family too, and we need her." Willow looked at Tara beseechingly with her wide eyes.  
  
"We've already fought most of the demons the portal has released. We don't need a Slayer anymore."  
  
"I don't need the Slayer," Willow retorted. Relaxing her shoulders, she exhaled deeply. "I-I need my best friend, and she's all alone somewhere. She needs _us_ , Tara."  
  
"I'm sure she can take care of herself. She's strong, you know?"  
  
"Being strong doesn't mean being alone or having to be alone, especially after everything that has happened to her, to us." She sat down on the bed beside Tara. "Everything we've gone through." Clasping her hands on her lap, she stared at them. "I really miss her and Dawnie. Especially Dawnie... And I feel like we've lost them both," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't think I can deal with that."  
  
"We all miss them, sweetie." With a sigh, Tara moved closer to her and rubbed her back. "And as much as I want to find Buffy, we made a promise to her and to Giles."  
  
Willow wiped a tear with the back of her hand. "Oh, like Giles isn't doing something to find her," she said as she faced Tara. "He and Spike have been acting kind of shady around us lately."  
  
"They have, haven't they?" Tara said thoughtfully. "Do you really think they're looking for her?"  
  
"Well, they _are_ up to something, and it's pretty obvious they're keeping something from us. I just know it's about Buffy."  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The place was a dump. Pizza boxes, soda cans, and beer bottles littered the floor. The dirty clothes that hung on every piece of furniture added to the room's musty smell. Spike cursed his enhanced senses.  
  
He walked around the small space, searching for a clean spot he could sit on and wait. Deciding to clear the chair, he picked up one of the white Chinese takeout cartons on top of it. He dropped the carton, his nose curled up in disgust, when he saw a rat inside. His crypt had been tidier than this. "Standing it is, then."  
  
When he heard the doorknob turn, he looked at it.  
  
A scrawny young man entered the apartment, carrying two brown paper bags, and flicked the light on. "Oh, jeez, Spike!" the man, who had morphed into a creature with gray, scaly skin and deep red eyes, said and jumped back in surprise. "You scared the shit out of me, man." He set his groceries on the floor and closed the door behind him. As he shifted back into his human features, he ran a hand through his thin patch of brown hair. "I didn't know you were back in town. What can I do for you tonight?"  
  
"I finally saw her last night," Spike said. His lips curled into a small smile that disappeared as soon as it appeared. He took a deep breath in. "Have you found out anything more about what's happened to her?"  
  
Scratching his head, the half demon answered, "Who?"  
  
Spike glared at him. "The Slayer, Jerry. You want me to spell that out for you, you nitwit?"  
  
"Oh. _That_ her." Jerry nodded. "You found her, then? Good for you."  
  
"I don't have time for your sodding idiocy," Spike said, his jaw clenched in impatience. "Tell me what you know."  
  
"All right, all right," the half demon said with his hands up in the air. "Take it easy, man." He shrugged his coat off and threw it at the couch as he moved towards his living area. "I've heard she's one of Doctor Melvin Hatch's newest clients."  
  
Spike's brow arched up in curiosity. "Who's he and what's his deal?"  
  
"He's a half-demon like me. He's a known black market merchant who likes to make deals, which, you know, can't be good most of the time, so..." Jerry shrugged.  
  
"Where can I find him?"  
  
"I'll look into it, ASAP."  
  
Spike was at the door in a flash. "You better."  
  
"A-a thank you once in a while would be nice," Jerry said. "No?" Spike stepped out of the apartment. "All right, then," he called out as the door clicked shut. "Vampires."  
  


**********

  
  
Spike watched Buffy through the windows of the diner from the alley across the street. It was just like old times; he was on the outside looking in.  
  
He'd never really been a part of her life, and he knew there wasn't any room for him in it now. But for once, he felt as if he had a chance to be, even only for a few days.  
  
Still, he knew what he had to do. He knew why he was here, and that it would be wrong to keep her from getting her memories back once he'd found out how.  
  
He knew his place: on the outside.  
  
Giles would most probably also hunt them down and off him.  
  
He stayed in the alley until he saw her remove her apron. Pushing himself off the wall, he threw his cigarette down on the ground and put it out with his boot. He waited until she was about to exit the diner to cross the street.  
  
As they walked past each other on the sidewalk, he prayed Buffy would remember him. When he'd passed her, she stopped and whirled around to face him.  
  
She hesitated for a moment before calling out, "Spike."  
  
Spike had to stifle the grin on his face when he spun around. Acting surprised to see her, he said, "Anne, hello. I didn't see you there."  
  
With a brow raised skeptically, Buffy said, "Where are you going?"  
  
"I was going to grab a bite," he said, pointing at Helen's Kitchen with his thumb. "You heading home?"  
  
"No. I'm actually going to this great burrito place a couple of blocks from here."  
  
"You work at a diner." He cocked his head to the side in inquiry.  
  
"I haven't had dinner and I've kind of had enough of the food here," she said, chuckling shyly.  
  
"Ah," he said with a nod. "You should probably be off, then. It's getting late."  
  
"You should come," she blurted out. "I-I mean if you want a burrito. The best burrito."  
  
  
  
And it was, in fact, one of the best burritos Spike had ever eaten. He was definitely adding it to his list of favorite human food, right up there with onion blossoms. "Bloody hell, this is delicious!" he said with his mouth full.   
  
A grin tore at Buffy's lips as she stared at him. "Isn't it?"  
  
"M-hm." He took another bite of his burrito. "You barely touched yours though," he said, gesturing at her plate.  
  
"Right," she said, picking hers up and taking a small bite. Then, out of nowhere, she asked him, "Is Buffy your girlfriend?"  
  
Spike nearly choked.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," she said, handing him a napkin with an apologetic frown.  
  
He took the napkin from her hand and cleared his throat. "No, no. It's all right," he said.  
  
"I know it's none of my business," she said, keeping her gaze on the burrito on the plate before her. "I probably shouldn't even be asking you about it but—"  
  
"She isn't," Spike quickly said, remembering all the times she'd made it clear that there would be nothing between them and that she could never love him.  
  
She raised her eyes to him. "So, who is she, if you don't mind me asking?"  
  
"Buffy..." he started, exhaling deeply. "She's a friend and she's lost her way. I need to bring her back home."  
  
"Did she run away?" Buffy leaned forward in interest.  
  
"Yeah," he said, lowering his eyes. "That she did."  
  
"I hope you find her," she said sincerely.  
  
Spike nodded and bit a mouthful of the burrito, effectively putting an end to the conversation.  
  


**********

  
  
It was still early in the morning and Spike had barely drifted off to sleep when there came a knock on the door. Knowing Jerry was the only one who knew where he was staying, he grabbed one of the pillows beneath his head and covered his ears with it as if it would help. Shortly, the banging on the door ceased. He relaxed once more and said, "Thought it'd never stop."  
  
After a few moments of silence, the knocking started again. "Spike," Jerry said from the other side of the door. "Are you there?" A groan was Spike's only reply, and Jerry continued to knock.  
  
"For God's sake," Spike muttered and got up from the bed with a grunt. "All right, stop pounding on the bloody door already. You're giving me a headache." He reluctantly got up, grabbed his jeans from the chair next to the bed and pulled them on. He was still a bit groggy as he opened the door of his motel room and found Jerry standing there holding up a strip of paper with a proud smile on his face.  
  
"I got the address," Jerry said and handed the folded piece of paper to Spike.  
  
With Jerry following him in, Spike walked back inside the room. "Great. Thanks."  
  
"It wasn't hard to find," the half demon said, closing the door behind him. "Though it wasn't exactly easy either."  
  
Ignoring Jerry who went on about how he'd gotten the address, Spike sat on the end of the bed and unfolded the piece of paper. He bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the address and number written neatly on the small piece of paper.  
  
He inhaled deeply. This was it. He could finally find out what had happened to Buffy and would be able to help bring her memories back. He sighed, fidgeting with the piece of paper. A part of him didn't care anymore if she would never become the Slayer again. A part of him actually liked the thought of her forgetting about vampires and demons and forgetting what he really was. He hated himself for that.  
  
Clenching his jaw in frustration and closing his eyes, he forced the thought out of his mind. Buffy wouldn't really be Buffy, the woman he so desperately loved, if she weren't the Slayer, if she hadn't gone through everything she'd gone through at such a young age. She wouldn't be as strong or as smart. She wouldn't be one hell of a woman.  
  
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Jerry's white and blue sneakers before him. Spike looked up at the half-demon with an eyebrow raised questioningly. "What are you still doing here?"  
  
"Well, I was thinking," Jerry slipped his hands into the pockets of his denim pants, "we could break into Doctor Hatch's office tonight, you and me." Spike rolled his eyes and stood up as he slid the paper into the back pocket of his jeans. "I could be your sidekick," Jerry said, waggling his eyebrows at the vampire. "Save the damsel in distress."  
  
"First off," Spike said, raising his index finger, "I don't do sidekicks. Second, Buffy's hardly a damsel in distress. And third, we're not going to break into the doctor's office." Spike returned Jerry's questioning stare with a smug look. "We're going to waltz right in."  
  


**********

  
  
"Knock off the fidgeting, will you?" Spike whispered, trying to control his impatience.  
  
Sitting beside Spike on the sofa, Jerry frowned. "I can't help it. The doctor's office gives me the heebie-jeebies."  
  
Spike shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "I knew letting you tag along was a _terrible_ idea."  
  
"Let me just remind you that I am helping you out for free, out of the goodness of my heart."  
  
Spike shot him a glare. "And let _me_ remind _you_ that I could rip out that good heart of yours in one swift motion if you don't shut it and relax."  
  
Jerry drew back and placed a hand on his chest, above his heart. "My, aren't we grouchy?"  
  
"Mister Pratt," the secretary said, and the two turned to her, putting an end to their argument. "Doctor Hatch will see you now."  
  
Spike inhaled sharply and pushed himself off the sofa. He turned to Jerry and held up a hand. "Wait for me here." As he walked into the doctor's office, Buffy was the only thing on his mind.  
  
Doctor Melvin Hatch, in his white coat and with his thick-rimmed spectacles, looked like a normal doctor in his forties. He had a strong, square jaw and wide shoulders. He raised his keen eyes to meet Spike's.  
  
"A vampire," the doctor said. He leaned forward, his dark brown eyes flashing green for a moment. "Please," he said, motioning Spike to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."  
  
Hesitantly, Spike moved to the chair, his eyes never leaving the doctor.  
  
"So, what can I do for you?" Doctor Hatch rested his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands.  
  
Spike leaned back on the chair and crossed his legs. "I want something erased. I've heard that's one of the services you offer."  
  
"Yes." The doctor grinned proudly. "Among other things. What would this something be?"  
  
Spike lowered his eyes. "A girl."  
  
"Ah," Doctor Hatch said, unclasping his hands. "Matters of the heart, I see. And who is this girl?"  
  
Spike cocked his head. "You ask an awful lot of questions. Can't we just get on with it?"  
  
"Listen, Mr. Pratt, is it?" the doctor said and Spike raised his chin. "This is not a free-for-all. I need background information on the patient and on what the patient wants to forget."  
  
"Fine." Spike shrugged. "The girl is… the love of my life. Or unlife, for that matter."  
  
The doctor chuckled, a glint of emerald in his eyes. "A vampire in love?"  
  
Spike clenched his jaw. "And therein lies my problem."  
  
"You're not that vampire cursed with a soul that I've heard a lot about, are you?"  
  
"God, no." Spike wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That ponce is one poor excuse for a vampire." He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and stared at his hands. "That girl." He shook his head. "That woman ruined my life." Sighing, he looked up at the doctor and said, "And saved it more times than I could count." He chuckled grimly. "She's in every fiber of my being. She's in my head all the bloody time, and if my heart were still beating… The thing is, I could never be something she could love. So I want to forget. I want to _not_ feel."  
  
The doctor nodded. "Then, let's get her erased." He pulled out a notebook from one of the drawers of his desk and took the pen from his breast pocket. "I'm going to have Ms. Robins schedule you for a physical evaluation."  
  
Although everything he'd just said was true, Spike was uninterested in having Buffy wiped out of his memory. What he was interested in was the procedure and how to undo what damage it had caused Buffy. "Right, then. How does this go? Is it a spell? Or do you give me some kind of drug and whatnot?"  
  
The doctor closed his notebook. "Well, first, we examine your brain to find out which areas to target. Then you undergo a procedure where a machine… let's put it this way, it deletes specific ‘files' in your brain, those associated with the subject you'd like to forget: people, places, and things, anything that could remind you of that memory. For a certain price, of course."  
  
"That's it, then?"  
  
"Tinkering with the brain is dangerous and tricky."  
  
"Don't I know it," Spike grumbled, rubbing at the part of his head where the Initiative chip was.  
  
"We must take precautionary measures. You'd have to take pills to prevent the memories from coming back when you come across something that might remind you of what you'd erased."  
  
Spike balled his hands into fists. He had an idea on how to get her back, but it was easier said than done.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

A desperate race to the top of a tower, a big ball of energy, and a girl looking back at her, wide eyes brimmed with tears, before jumping to her death. She'd had that same recurring dream for the past few nights, and she would wake up just before dawn, her heart thundering and her cheeks stained with tears.

Last night hadn't been any different and the dream had already roused her hours before her afternoon shift at the diner. The overwhelming sense of grief had weighed heavily on her, and she'd spent most of that Tuesday morning just lying in bed and staring at the stained spot on the ceiling, replaying the dream over and over in her head.  
  
A little past one in the afternoon, when she had gathered enough strength, she dragged herself out of bed, stretched, and made her way to the bathroom. She stood motionless under the shower for a long time, letting the warm water cascade down her body as she tried to rid her mind of the girl and the dream.  
  
When she finally felt better and a little more like herself, she stepped out of the shower and went to the sink. She wiped the mist from the mirror of the medicine cabinet with the palm of her hand and looked at her reflection.  
  
She felt oddly dissociated from herself, like she didn't recognize the girl looking back at her.  
  
Grimacing, she massaged her temple. Her doctor had warned her that she was bound to get headaches from time to time and that it would be nothing to worry about if she took her medicine regularly. But the headaches had started around the same time she'd started having the dreams and had been getting more frequent lately. It made her wonder if the dreams and the headaches were connected.  
  
With a deep sigh, she opened the door of the medicine cabinet, retrieved the bottle of her pills and took one. She stared at the orange bottle for a while as she waited for the pain in her head to abate a little.  
  
After drying her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail and getting dressed in her uniform, she grabbed her apron, coat, and purse and headed to the diner. Claire, who had probably been thirty minutes early for their shift again, was already cleaning tables after the lunch-time rush when she arrived.  
  
Like most weekday afternoons, there were only a handful of customers in the diner and only a few would most likely trickle in and out before six o'clock. There were still a few hours of relative calm and quiet left before the frenzy of the dinner rush, and she was grateful for it, especially today.  
  
"Hey," she greeted Claire as she entered the diner.  
  
"Hey, you. Cutting it close today." Claire gestured at the clock on the wall above the door and disappeared into the kitchen with an armload of dishes.  
  
She glanced at the clock; it was a minute before two. "I had a rough morning," she said to herself as she hung her purse and coat on one of the hooks on the wall by the kitchen. Putting on her apron, she walked in behind the counter.  
  
Minutes later, Claire emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of newly washed mugs. "You okay, Anne?" she asked, tucking a stray strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear before handing her a mug. "You look a bit spaced out."  
  
"I'm fine," she insisted and took the mug from her. "I just didn't get enough sleep last night."  
  
"Ooh, did that hot English guy keep you up all night?" Claire waggled her eyebrows. "Bet he's a monster in the sack. He's got that look."  
  
"My God, Claire!" Blushing, she laughed and playfully swatted Claire on her bottom with the tea towel in her hand; all thoughts about her dream and the girl had been forgotten for the time being. "I barely know the guy. Plus, I didn't even see him last night."  
  
"You want to see him again though."  
  
With a shrug, she said, "A little," and Claire squinted at her. "Okay, a lot," she conceded. "He's nice to look at."  
  
" _Very_ nice," Claire corrected.  
  
"And there's some definite sparkage there," she said, placing another mug on the shelf beneath the counter. "But there's just something about him…" She shook her head. "I can't put a finger on it."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure you'd like to put more than a finger on him." Claire smirked and winked.  
  
Giggling, she rolled her eyes at Claire and said, "Shut up," although she wasn't entirely wrong.  
  
By the end of her shift, there still hadn't been any sign of Spike. He would usually turn up at around eight in the evening and sit at his usual spot at the counter. He would ask for the special and order it if it sounded good. Most of the time though, he would only order coffee, which he would barely touch. Then he would hang around until her shift ended at ten and would walk her across the street to her home.  
  
Sometimes she felt like he was only there because of her. But, of course, she knew why he was here in L.A. in the first place and it certainly _wasn't_ because of her. It was because of Buffy. Buffy the Friend. Yeah, right. Who was he fooling? She could see it in his eyes whenever he would say her name or talk about her that he was hopelessly, completely in love with Buffy.  
  
There had been times, though, when he'd thought she hadn't been looking, she would catch him staring at her with the same look in his eyes and she wondered if he liked her too.  
  
"Hot English guy didn't show up again today, huh?" Claire asked as they made their way out of the diner.  
  
"Nope. Maybe he finally found Buffy," she replied sourly and shrugged into her coat.  
  
"Who's that?"  
  
She reined in her jealousy and said, "I don't know. Some girl." She opened the diner's door with a huff and stepped out with Claire following close behind. "Anyway, I don't think I should even be thinking about dating right now."  
  
Then, as if on cue, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she heard the voice she'd come to know all too well in the past week call out her name.  
  
She and Claire turned around and there he was.  
  
"Spike. Hi."  
  
He flicked his cigarette onto the pavement and raised his hand in a slight wave as he breathed smoke out his nose.  
  
Claire gave her a light nudge in the ribs and whispered, "I'll see you on Thursday," before waving goodbye to them both.  
  
Once Claire had walked off, she sauntered toward him. "I didn't think I'd see you today," she said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible as she fiddled with the strap of the black leather purse on her shoulder.  
  
Spike stepped closer, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "Missed me, did you?"  
  
His joke caught her off guard and she felt heat rush to her cheeks. "No, I didn't mean it like that!" she blurted out, eyes wide in embarrassment.  
  
Shaking his head ruefully, Spike clenched his jaw. "Sorry, I was just teasing. Old habit." She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant but, as if to stop her, he quickly continued, "I had some business to take care of. How've you been?"  
  
"I've been…" She paused and thought about telling him that she'd been feeling a bit crappy lately but decided that it would raise questions she wasn't prepared to answer. "Okay, I guess. You?"  
  
"Same," he replied.  
  
"That's good."  
  
He nodded.  
  
And for the first time since they'd met, there arose a kind of awkwardness in the air between them. He shifted awkwardly where he stood, drumming his fingers on his thigh and not quite matching her gaze. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she anticipated what he would say next. She feared that he had finally found Buffy and had come to say goodbye, but she waited for him to go on.  
  
After several beats, he spoke again. "It's your day off tomorrow, is it?"  
  
She released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and hoped he was going where she thought he was going with this. "Yeah. I'm getting some much-needed R and R."  
  
"I see," he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Nice hot bath, warm comfy bed?"  
  
"That's the idea," she said and lowered her eyes for a moment. The way he'd drawled the words in that deep, husky voice of his made it sound way more sensual than it was – to her, anyway – and she couldn't stop her mind from wandering into the gutter. Pulling herself together, she looked back up at him. "And you? Do you have any plans tomorrow?"  
  
"Not much." He pursed his lips and shrugged. "Maybe get some shut eye. Hang about."  
  
"Sounds nice."  
  
"Really isn't."  
  
"Well, you could watch that show you've mentioned you like. ‘Passions?'"  
  
"There's that," he allowed with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. "Would rather spend time with you though." His gaze bore into hers as he said it, a flurry of emotions dancing in his eyes, and she felt her heart flutter against her chest. "How about I take you out tomorrow night?"  
  
"Like a… date?" she asked coyly, her eyes bright and steady.  
  
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips spread into a grin. "Only if you want it to be."

**********

The morning light shone through the windows of the Summers' living room. Willow sat on the sofa, frowning in worry, as Giles paced back and forth in front of her, hardly saying a word.  
  
It had been barely eight o'clock in the morning and she and Tara had been having breakfast in the kitchen, getting ready to head to school, when Giles arrived unexpectedly. The last time he'd been there was the day Buffy left and he hadn't come to visit since then. She guessed it had to do with all the memories the house brought, and she couldn't really blame him. Xander and Anya rarely went there too.  
  
Breaking the silence in the room, she finally said, "You have apocalypse face."  
  
Giles stopped mid-stride and turned to her, putting on his glasses as he did. "I'm sorry?"  
  
"You're kind of scaring me, what with the ominous pacing and the constant wiping of the glasses," she stammered.  
  
"Oh. Sorry, no." Giles shook his head. "The world's not ending again. Not tonight, anyway," he said with a slight smile.  
  
Willow perked up at that and looked up at him expectantly. "Then what's up?" she said as she leaned forward and clasped her hands between her knees. She figured it had to be about whatever he and Spike had been doing behind everyone else's backs that was clearly breaking the promise they'd all made to Buffy.  
  
He sat down beside her and said slowly, "It's about Buffy."  
  
"What about her?"  
  
"Spike and I…" He had barely begun explaining when he saw the lopsided grin on Willow's face. "You already know."  
  
The grin on Willow's face spread into a full smile. "Well, I don't know exactly. I just knew you were up to something," she said, tipping her chin up. "Have you been looking for her?"  
  
"Spike has. It's why he left."  
  
"I knew that ‘sabbatical' thing was a load of horse hooey!" she exclaimed, adding air quotes with her voice. Then, quieter, "Why didn't you tell us?"  
  
Giles sighed. "I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. She may not want to come back."  
  
"Okay, I get that," she acquiesced, rolling her eyes. "But I could have helped."  
  
He gave her an apologetic look and said, "I'm asking for your help now."  
  
"Fine," she muttered with a pout. "Has he found her?"  
  
"Thankfully, yes. I believe they're somewhere in L.A. He called last week; however, I haven't heard from him since then."  
  
Willow nodded, already realizing what Giles needed her to do. She immediately stood up and walked over to the shelf to retrieve some candles, her pouch, and a mortar and pestle. "Human-variety? Or demon?"  
  
"It might be best to do both."  
  
"Got it," she said, then hesitated. "I don't think we have a map of L.A. here though."  
  
Giles pulled a folded map from the inside pocket of his jacket and said, "I've brought one."  
  
"All right-y, then. This shouldn't take long." She walked back to the sofa, laid out the spell ingredients and the map on the coffee table, and sat beside Giles again. "We'll find them."


	4. Chapter 4

The evil side of Spike was winning by a landslide. To be fair though, the not-so-bad side of him wasn't exactly putting up a fight anymore.

For the first few days, it had been clear to him why he was sitting in a cheap motel room that was barely a step up from his crypt, talking shop with an extremely gabby half-demon. Every night he would go to the diner and spend some of the little money Giles had given him on a beverage he would barely drink just so he could talk to Buffy, earn her trust, and execute his plan.  
  
Buffy had been more than welcoming. She would smile and wave at him as soon as she would see him come in. On slow nights, she would even sit with him. She would tell him stories, some about the most trivial things, and he'd listen. She would crack jokes and giggle at even the corniest ones. She would look at him without the slightest hint of hatred or disgust in her eyes, without the memories of him and everything he'd done to her and everyone she'd ever cared about in the back of her mind. She would look at him and really see him. That had been the best part.  
  
And then, just when he'd thought things couldn't get any better, she'd agreed to go on a date with him that night. An actual date – not one in the guise of a late-night stakeout with bourbon in a flask and nests of pathetic vampires.  
  
So he couldn't be blamed if, after spending all that time with her and feeling as if he finally had even a sliver of a chance with her, his resolve was starting to waver, could he?  
  
There was still that annoyingly incessant chatter of his conscience, however, and his name was Jerry.  
  
Jerry sat at the foot of the bed, holding the TV remote and absentmindedly flipping through channels. He stopped on a station playing a Friskies cat food advertisement and said, "Man, I need more kittens. The ones you gave me aren't enough to cover that consultation with Doctor Hatch, you know."  
  
"I said I'll pay you back," Spike mumbled, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He sat in a chair by the small table next to the motel room window, counting the money he'd made from selling his kitten poker winnings the other night. He had no idea why Jerry was here, but he welcomed the company all the same, even if said company was annoying as hell. "I'm no welsher."  
  
Jerry clicked through a few more channels before finally turning the TV off. "I know. No worries." Hiking up a leg onto the bed, he turned to Spike. "Maybe Mr. Giles will give us kittens. Or money!" he exclaimed excitedly. When Spike shot him daggers, he shrank bank and said timidly, "As a reward for rescuing Buffy." Spike let out an exaggerated, exasperated sigh and turned his attention back to the wad of cash in his hands, pointedly ignoring him. But he yammered on anyway. "You have told him the good news, right?"  
  
Spike took the cigarette from his mouth and tapped its ashes into the glass ashtray at the center of the table. He didn't need to be reminded that he hadn't called the watcher with any update in days. He knew he was stalling for more time with Buffy. He also knew that it was wrong. He didn't much care. "Not yet."  
  
"What? Why not?" Jerry stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at him for an explanation. Spike didn't bother to even attempt to give one. Soon, realization registered on Jerry's face and he uncrossed his arms. "Oh. I see how it is."  
  
The poor sod wasn't as stupid as Spike had thought after all, but it still wasn't his place to judge or question his decisions. He took one last drag of his cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray and narrowing his eyes at him. "Choose your next words very carefully," he said in a deep, menacing voice, letting out a billow of smoke.  
  
"Hey, no judgment here," Jerry said, holding his hands up in a gesture of defense. "I mean, I get it. If I were you, I'd—"  
  
Spike cut him off as he abruptly sprung up from his seat, deep lines of worry etched across his brow. "Shut your gob." His voice was low and even. He looked at the door and listened.  
  
"I'm just saying—"  
  
Spike put a hand up to try to quiet Jerry one more time.  
  
Jerry shifted closer to him and whispered, "What is it?"  
  
Suddenly, the door flew open, the top hinge pulled loose from the doorframe. A brick-red demon about six feet tall, almost silhouetted by the soft late afternoon light behind it, stood in the doorway.  
  
"Bloody hell," Spike groaned.  
  
Jerry yelled at the same time, "Oh, God!"  
  
The demon immediately lunged at Spike with its massive arms outstretched and knocked him to the carpeted floor, hurling Jerry back into the bathroom door behind him and leaving him unconscious.  
  
Spike vamped out, kicked the demon off him and jumped to his feet. "Don't know what your deal is, mate, but I'm always up for a tussle."  
  
The demon stomped forward with a growl and threw an uppercut to Spike's gut then clobbered him in the jaw.  
  
Spike backpedaled, spat blood out, and goaded, "That all you got?"  
  
His left fist crunched into the demon's snout and, as it staggered backward, he delivered a push kick to its torso. It doubled over in pain and he drove a knee to the side of its head.  
  
The demon retaliated by slamming its huge fist into his side. Spike roared in pain and tried to strike back with a blow to its chin, but the demon blocked his attack with its arm, took him by his shirt and headbutt him in the face.  
  
Spike reeled backward, blood dripping from his nose. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, inspected it with an impish grin on his face, and sniffed haughtily. "Right, then," he croaked and came at the demon head-on.  
  
Fists and feet and curses flew as the grapple went on. In the end, Spike was able to catch the demon in a headlock. He twisted its neck until it cracked and then chucked the lifeless carcass to the ground.  
  
Jerry came to just in time and pulled himself up, rubbing his head. He stumbled forward and stared at the demon on the floor. "Damn," he said and then glanced around the trashed room. "Oof. This is going to cost you."  
  
Spike's nostrils flared in frustration.  
  
"What do you think was that all about?" Jerry said as he lightly nudged the corpse with his foot.  
  
Spike glanced at the clock radio on the bedside table. He still had a couple of hours before his date with Buffy, so he said, "I reckon I need to pay the good doctor a visit." Then he turned to Jerry. "But first, get me the soddin' fire axe."

**********

Spike barged into Doctor Hatch's office, ignoring the secretary's protests, and tossed the severed demon head onto the desk before the doctor. He held his chin up smugly and said, "Friend of yours?"  
  
Doctor Hatch leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in response while the vampire he'd been talking to scurried out of the room.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes at the fledgling and put his hands on his waist, shoving back his coat. "You know who I am, I reckon."  
  
"Yes, Spike," the doctor said evenly, casting a quick look at Jerry who was standing behind him. "We know who you are."  
  
He dropped his arms to his sides and clenched his fists. "Didn't like me poking around, did you?"  
  
"Leave Ms. Summers alone."  
  
"What? Scared she'd remember what you did to her and kick your ass?" he said in tightly controlled anger.  
  
The doctor suddenly sat upright, indignant. " _She_ came to _us_. We did as she wanted, and we got paid." Then he smirked slyly. "Getting rid of the Slayer was just a fortunate bonus."  
  
That struck a nerve more than anything else Spike had had to deal with from the doctor.  
  
The Slayer wasn't gone. She was still there, hiding behind a normal, ordinary girl when she was far from it. She was so much more than that. She was amazing. She was extraordinary.  
  
And it wasn't the Slayer strength and power. It was _her_. It was the strength of her heart and her kindness. It was her courage, her resilience.  
  
None of which she even vaguely remembered now.  
  
Without warning, he took the doctor by the lapels of his coat and shoved him hard against the wall, pinning him by the neck with his forearm. "Make her right again."  
  
"We can't," the doctor choked out and laughed.  
  
Spike pressed his arm against the doctor's neck tighter. "Guess I'd have to settle for killing you, then."  
  
"Uhh… Spike? I think it's time to go," Jerry interrupted, his voice squeaking in fear.  
  
Spike turned to Jerry and then glanced around the room. Five demons as big as the one he'd fought at the motel surrounded them. He cursed under his breath. He didn't like their chances of getting out of there in time, or at all. They needed an exit strategy.  
  
Spike tightened his jaw and turned back to the doctor. "I'd have ripped your throat out before they could even move a muscle," he warned.  
  
After a moment of glaring at each other, the doctor must have understood that he wasn't bluffing and gestured for the demons to stand down.  
  
Through gritted teeth, Spike let the doctor go. They would need to settle this some other time when he had the advantage.  
  
"If any one of your lackeys so much as breathes on me or the Slayer, your head's next," he threatened before storming out of the office with Jerry following close behind.

**********

God, he was terrified.  
  
He was terrified of the date going badly. He was terrified of doing things wrong. He was terrified of how she'd react. He was terrified of losing her again. He was terrified of her more than he'd been terrified of anything else his entire existence.  
  
But he'd already been twenty minutes late, and it was now or never.  
  
"Bloody ponce," he mumbled before finally bringing himself to knock on Buffy's door after standing in front of it for at least five minutes, hesitating.  
  
"Just a minute!" he heard her say, followed by the brisk tapping of heels and rustling.  
  
As soon as she opened the door, he said, "Sorry I'm late. I—"  
  
The smile she'd greeted him with soon faded into a concerned frown. "Oh my God, are you okay? What happened?" she said, lightly touching his busted lower lip.  
  
He flinched at the feel of her warm fingertips and she quickly pulled back her fingers. "It's fine, pet. Flesh wound. I just… ran into a brick wall," he said, his face twisting into a grimace at his lame excuse. She eyed him skeptically, and he took the moment to take her in. She was wearing a wispy knee-length light gray skirt and a dark purple corset top, with her long, blonde hair cascading down her bare shoulders in soft waves. His mouth must have hung open because he saw she was grinning at him. "You look…" His head tilted to the side as he stared at her and searched for the perfect word. _Effulgent_ , he thought. "Radiant," he said instead.  
  
She blushed and said, "Thank you."  
  
He shook his head out of his trance and held out a rustic bouquet of wildflowers to her. "These are for you," he said. "I know it's not much but…"  
  
"They're beautiful," she assured him and took the flowers from him. "Let me go put them in water." She walked over to a cabinet in the kitchen area to retrieve a glass vase and, unable to step inside, he stood awkwardly at the threshold until she said, "You can come in if you like."  
  
A broad smile that he tried to suppress drew across his lips as he followed her to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter while she filled the vase halfway with water, put the flowers inside, and set it on the kitchen table.  
  
"New clothes?" she teased, regarding the jacket and the light blue button-down he wore over his usual black shirt. "I've never seen you wear something like that before."  
  
He glanced down at his clothes anxiously. He'd always tried to dress as normal as possible when he'd been trying to get Buffy's attention, but she'd never once said anything about it. "Thought it'd be less conspicuous. Normal. You don't fancy it?"  
  
"No, it's nice. It just doesn't seem like you," she said as she grabbed her cardigan and purse. "And I already like you exactly as you are." Before Spike could even process what she'd said and react, she said, "Come on."  
  
They headed out of her apartment and down to where he'd parked just outside. When they got there, he realized he hadn't even considered that she would be wearing a dress or a skirt. "Bollocks", he admonished himself. "Sorry, love, I've only got a motorcycle." He gestured at the motorcycle he'd nicked from a demon biker he'd killed back in Sunnydale and glanced at her skirt pointedly. "We'll get a cab."  
  
She took his hand and smiled. "Would you stop apologizing? It's fine, I promise."  
  
He sighed. "So—" he started but quickly stopped himself and inhaled deeply. "I haven't done this in…" His mind went over his century with Drusilla and his rebound fling with Harmony. "Ever, really."  
  
"Just relax, okay?"  
  
He nodded and helped her onto the motorcycle's pillion. She sat down, tucking her skirt around her knees. His eyes unconsciously drifted down to her legs, and she teasingly reprimanded him, "Eyes up here, mister," with a flirtatious smile in place. He looked back up at her and chuckled as he handed her a blue and white football helmet. She looked at it amusedly before putting it on.  
  
Once she'd settled, he mounted the motorcycle himself and started the engine. "Ready, pet?"  
  
"Ready," she said and wrapped her arms around his waist. He tensed at the contact, then relaxed and held her arms against his chest for a moment, a touch of rue in his eyes.  
  
By the end of the night, he would tell her everything.


	5. Chapter 5

They arrived at the obscure hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant Spike had chosen at a little past eight-thirty. The place was perfectly romantic and quaint, with its candlelight, plush chairs and dark, wooden tables, and the soft music that flowed from concealed speakers here and there. The ambiance relaxed him little by little, and soon all nervousness left him. He was determined to make the most of the few hours he had left with her before things between the two of them either returned to how they had been or become even worse.

Once they were seated at a table in the corner, Buffy said, "This place is amazing. How did you find out about it?"  
  
He wanted to tell her he'd seen it the last time he'd gone to Los Angeles, when he'd gone after her ponce of an ex to try – and spectacularly fail – to get the Gem of Amara. He wondered if maybe they could laugh about such things now, after everything they'd been through together. It didn't matter, though, because the entire thing would just be lost on her. She probably didn't remember the poof, him being a vampire and all, and she certainly wouldn't remember the gem or that exhilarating fight they'd had in broad daylight. She also wouldn't remember the gibes he'd thrown at her about her skills in the sack just to tick her off, which, in hindsight, was probably for the best.  
  
"I happened by it about two years ago, the last time I was here in L.A.," he said. Then added, "On a procurement job," to avoid any follow up questions that he would have had a hard time answering.  
  
"Oh, okay," was all she said and then she turned her attention to the menu in her hands. He did the same.  
  
The waiter who had led them to their table earlier soon reappeared. He placed two glasses of water and a basket of complimentary bread on their table and took their orders. Buffy ordered a house salad and minestrone soup to start, cheese and spinach ravioli as her main, and a glass of raspberry iced tea. Spike only ordered a plate of spicy buffalo chicken wings and beer.  
  
When the waiter left, taking the menus with him, Buffy jutted her bottom lip out in a pout. "I ordered too much, didn't I?"  
  
Spike leaned forward on the table and assured her, "Not at all, pet. Order whatever you like. I love a woman with an appetite."  
  
"But you barely ordered anything. Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
"I'm sure." He raised his shoulders slightly. "I don't eat much is all."  
  
"I've noticed," she said as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass of water. "Maybe that's why you're so lean and built."  
  
He smirked, curling his tongue behind his teeth. "Spent a lot of time ogling me, have you?"  
  
She picked up a piece of bread, tore off a bit, and said with a coy smile, "I can't help it." With her eyes fixed on his, she slid the pinch of bread into her mouth and seductively drew her fingers out from between her glossed lips.  
  
Spike's smirk grew into a wide grin. They'd always engaged in banter for as long as he could remember, but it had never been as sexual or as flirty as this. At least, not from her end. Except that time they'd been under a spell, or that time at the Bronze where she'd made him extremely hard…   
  
Arching a brow, he said, "Well, play your cards right and I might let you—" The sentence dissolved on his lips when the waiter arrived with a tray holding their drinks and appetizers.  
  
They held each other's gaze while the waiter set the salad, soup, and iced tea in front of Buffy and the mug of beer in front of Spike. Buffy cleared her throat and looked away first as the waiter excused himself and left. Silence then lapsed between them.  
  
"You're really not going to tell me what happened?" she spoke again as she stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork.  
  
Spike took a swig of his beer and leaned back on his chair. "I'll tell you everything later. I promise." When he saw that her brows were still knitted in worry as she ate, he reached over and put his hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's nothing to fret about, love. Let's just enjoy the night, yeah?"  
  
She gave him a small smile and nodded, candlelight dancing in her emerald eyes.  
  
After a few minutes, the waiter returned with the rest of their food. They ate in a comfortable hush, with the muted and pleasant hum of conversations around them. Every now and then, she would close her eyes in bliss as she savored the flavors, and he would watch her with deep affection and amusement in his eyes. She also offered him a spoonful of her soup and a bite of her pasta from her own fork once or twice, which he each took after a moment of hesitation.  
  
A few moments more, she finally put her fork down and wiped her lips with a napkin. "That was so good."  
  
"Yeah," he said as he placed a chicken bone on his plate. "Not a lot of places like this back home."  
  
She scrunched up her face. "In England?"  
  
Spike laughed, finding her reaction absolutely adorable, and then turned half-serious. "No, Sunnydale," he said slowly, gauging her reaction. "Here in California."  
  
Buffy's face lit up, and she surprised him by saying, "No way! I went to high school there."  
  
He raised an eyebrow and tried to keep his tone neutral. "Oh?"  
  
"Yeah, and college. But then…" She trailed off and looked away, her lips in a tight line. "But then my mom passed away."  
  
Spike swallowed hard and waited for her to go on.  
  
Her voice was barely above a whisper when she began again, fidgeting with the napkin in her hands. "She died of an aneurysm, but she had a brain tumor before that."  
  
He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry," was all he managed to say.  
  
She forced a grin and said, "It's okay. It was a while back. And a lot of it is pretty blurry because of the accident."  
  
"Accident? What accident?" He brought his eyes to her face again.  
  
"Oh. Right." Her face flushed, as if she'd said something she wasn't supposed to say. She darted a quick look at him and heaved a sigh. "I haven't told this to anyone, but I was in an accident a couple of months ago and got selective amnesia or something." She made a nonchalant gesture and said, "But I'm fine. And I remember a lot, so it doesn't really bother me all that much."  
  
Spike was nonplussed. He searched desperately for the right words to say, but none came. A whirlwind of thoughts stormed through his mind. How much did she know? What did she remember? If she remembered her mum, did she remember Dawn? What about Willow and Xander? He wanted to ask, but knew he couldn't, not until he'd told her everything, including what and who he was.  
  
Buffy chuckled shyly and it called him out of his thoughts. "Sorry. I think I ruined the mood. I know it's a lot to take in."  
  
"No," he quickly said, knowing he was going to make her head spin later that night. "No, I'm glad you told me."  
  
The corners of her lips rose. "Me too. I don't know why, but I feel like I can trust you," she said, and he felt a pang of guilt deep in his gut.  
  
The ride back to her apartment was a short while of both torture and bliss, and Spike relished every minute of it. Once they pulled up outside her apartment building, they got off the motorcycle and stood on the sidewalk by the steps.  
  
Buffy stood facing him with her hands clasped behind her back, the pale moonlight glowing warm and golden on her face. He'd always found her more beautiful in this light, as if almost ethereal.  
  
Closing the distance between them, she stepped forward and said, "Thank you for tonight." She was standing so close now that he could feel the heat of her body radiating to him.  
  
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to taste her and touch her until he burned and turned to ashes in her hands. And from the look in her eyes, he knew she wanted it too. But he also knew she'd never forgive him once she remembered who he really was.  
  
Still holding her eyes with his, he bent his head and leaned his forehead on hers. He set his jaw firmly, fighting the urge to kiss her, and said, "There's something you should know."  
  
They pulled apart at the sound of a male voice before Buffy could respond. "Well, what do you know – the Slayer _is_ in town! Ned wasn't lying!"  
  
"Bollocks," Spike groaned and glanced around him and Buffy. Two vampires were there – a burly one behind him and a lanky one behind Buffy. "Sod off, you wankers!" he barked at them. Then he turned to Buffy and gripped her shoulders. "Get inside. Now."  
  
Not giving them a chance to run, the burly vampire immediately charged at Spike, swinging his fist at his head, while the lanky vampire pounced at Buffy and tried to seize her arm.  
  
Spike whirled around, blocked the blow with his arm, and punched the vampire in the stomach.  
  
"Get off me!" Buffy screamed and backhanded the lanky vampire, sending him flying into the street and landing hard on his back. Her eyes widened in shock and confusion. "How…"  
  
Just as the lanky vampire started to slowly get up, Spike picked up the burly vampire by his jacket and hurled him headfirst into a lamppost. He then rushed to Buffy's side and took her arm. "Got to move, pet," he said as he pushed her up the steps and into the building. They ran up the stairs to her apartment as she frantically fumbled for her keys. With trembling fingers, she unlocked the door and Spike slammed it shut behind them.  
  
Buffy ran her hands through her hair as she paced back and forth. "What the hell were those things? Their faces…"  
  
"Vampires. Word must've gotten out. Don't worry, they can't come in here unless you invite ‘em in. Reckon they didn't stick around, too."  
  
She stopped and turned to Spike. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"  
  
Spike could feel fear and confusion pulsating off her for the first time since he'd found her. "I didn't want you to find out this way."  
  
"Find _what_ out?"  
  
He took a step toward her. "You should sit down."  
  
She took a step back. "I think I'll stand," she said through clenched teeth. Now that sounded like the ever-so-stubborn Slayer he knew.  
  
He sighed and muttered, "There's no easy way to say this." Then, clear and unwavering, he said, "You're Buffy Summers. You're the Slayer."  
  
She looked at him for a moment with an open-mouthed gape before laughing sardonically. "Is this some kind of sick joke? ‘Cause I _really_ don't get it."  
  
"Said it yourself, right? Bits and pieces of memories are missing from that noggin of yours."  
  
Her face turned pallid, clouded by anger, as understanding hit her. He didn't know how much she'd sussed out just then, but he knew it was enough. She shook her head, staring at him incredulously. "All this time you knew who I was?"  
  
He threw his arms wide in a gesture of appeal. "Yeah, but if you could just hear me out—"  
  
"No. I think you should leave," she said hoarsely.  
  
"But Buffy…" He looked at her pleadingly.  
  
She inhaled deeply and said louder, "I said, get out."

**********

Spike rode around aimlessly for hours until the darkest hour before dawn. He tried to look for some vampire or demon ass to kick, drove past Buffy's apartment a few times just to make sure she was all right, and bought himself a bottle of bourbon and a new pack of smokes.  
  
All things considered, it went better than he ever could have hoped. He still had all his parts and she hadn't staked him – not that she knew at that moment that she could do that. And she seemed to believe him, which was a win in his book. He just needed to be patient – although that had never been one of his strong suits – and give her time to cool down and process it all. And then, when she was ready, he could help her remember.  
  
When he got back to his motel room, he found a woman curled up in one corner of the bed, asleep. He glanced at the now lopsided table by the window and set the paper bag of bourbon and cigarettes on the floor instead. With a sigh, he pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed, covered the woman with it, and closed the broken door as best he could.  
  
At the sound of the door closing, the girl stirred from her sleep and opened her eyes slowly. "Spike?" she said groggily as she sat up in bed.  
  
Spike smiled slightly at her. "Morning, Red."


	6. Chapter 6

Spike carefully drew back one curtain slightly and peeked out the window; the sun had started to rise. He closed the curtain again and glanced at Willow who was sitting on the bed, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"How's the sabbatical going?" she asked.  
  
He wrenched the cap off the bottle of bourbon he'd bought earlier and tossed it on the floor. He'd been looking forward to spending the early morning by his lonesome and drinking himself to sleep, but that obviously wasn't happening anymore. "Just peachy. Thanks for asking," he replied dryly. This earned him a glare from Willow which only made him roll his eyes. "The Watcher filled you in, then?" he said before taking a swig.  
  
"Only that you were out here looking for Buffy," she said as she folded her legs under her to sit cross-legged.  
  
He nodded. It was all the Watcher could have told them, really. "Where's the rest of the lot?"  
  
"It's just me. I told Giles I'd handle it."  
  
"Good," he muttered and took another swig.  
  
"You're a jerk for not telling us, you know that?"  
  
"Vampire. Evil," he said matter-of-factly, but immediately offered her an apologetic look knowing she'd felt betrayed. After all, he'd been living under the same roof as her and the two of them had become unexpectedly closer over the course of the summer.  
  
After Buffy had left, Willow and Tara had offered him the Summers' basement. At first he'd refused, mostly because Xander had been adamantly against it and having him on his back about anything would have annoyed him to no end. But after a while Xander had relented, so he'd moved in.  
  
Living with the two witches had proven to be better than he'd expected. He had the basement all to himself – except on laundry days – and had complete privacy, a better TV and reception than the one he'd had, and free food whenever he'd felt like eating. The company hadn't been all that bad either.  
  
"How'd you find me anyway?" he said with an arch expression on his face as he moved to sit beside her on the bed, bottle of bourbon still in hand.  
  
"Locator spell. It didn't work on Buffy though." She squinted at him when he smirked smugly. "But I guess you already knew that."  
  
He chuckled; a locator spell was the first thing he'd had done, of course. It hadn't been his first time looking for someone who hadn't wanted to be found. "Cloaking talisman, I'd wager."  
  
"Again, thanks for the heads up," she said sarcastically. Then she exhaled and her shoulders slumped. "How is she?"  
  
He stared at the bottle in his hands, his mouth drawn into a rigid line. "She's not exactly herself right now."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Had her bleedin' memory tweaked." He shook his head. "Let some quack poke around her head."  
  
Willow dropped her eyes to her hands as she wrung them. "Why would she do that?"  
  
 _Why wouldn't she_ , he thought. "Thought it'd be easier, I reckon." After a moment, he spoke again, trying to keep the bitterness and sadness out of his voice. "She seemed happier." _And I'd ruined that._  
  
Willow looked back up at him and they exchanged a knowing look. "Oh," she whispered, and he took a good long swig. "Do you think we should just let her be?"  
  
Spike scoffed harshly at her question, but more at himself for what he'd done. "Bit late for that."  
  
He began to tell her everything he'd found out and everything that had happened since he'd started looking for Buffy, including the disaster of the night before. He left out the part where last night with Buffy had been a date, however. As supportive as she had been about his feelings for Buffy that summer, he didn't know how she would react now that circumstances had changed and Buffy had no idea who he was.  
  
Around noon, the doorknob started to wiggle and turn and the sound of a male voice singing spilled from the opening door. Willow, who was sitting at the foot of the side of the bed nearest the door, turned to Spike. "Who's that?" She pressed the lid of her laptop closed and set it beside her.  
  
Spike lay on the other side of the bed with one arm behind his head; he'd been trying to get some sleep. "Probably just Jerry." He heard the door click shut and the half-demon speak.  
  
"How'd you get the door—Oh, I didn't know you had company."  
  
Spike kept his eyes closed as he said, "You do know vampires sleep during the day, don't you?" which Jerry completely ignored.  
  
"Hi, beautiful," Jerry said in his best suave voice, not knowing that wouldn't get him anywhere with Red. "I'm Jerry."  
  
"Willow."  
  
"Ah, the witch. Were you the one who fixed the door?"  
  
"Oh, that was nothing," Willow said with a light giggle bubbling from her throat.  
  
Spike sighed and sat up, giving up on sleep for the time being. "Is there a reason why you're here?"  
  
"Uhm, yeah," Jerry said tentatively as he scratched the back of his head, which meant there was no particularly important reason why he'd come. "How'd the date go?"  
  
Willow quickly shifted in her seat to face Spike with wide eyes. "You had a date?"  
  
"Yeah, with the Slayer. Didn't he tell you? You should have seen him. Got dressed up and everything!"  
  
Spike threw his head back and rolled his eyes upward in frustration then glared at the half-demon who was now sitting on the chair by the window. So much for not telling Willow about the date.  
  
"You went on a date with Buffy?" Willow asked, one corner of her mouth quirked up. And then she frowned. "Did she know this time?"  
  
"'Course she did." Spike scowled at her. "But it wasn't a date. We had dinner. And we talked, like I told you. That was it," he said, gesturing emphatically.  
  
"Italian?" Willow asked and flashed Spike a toothy grin in approval when Jerry nodded.  
  
Spike groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Can we _please_ talk about something else?"  
  
"Okay, fine. You don't want to tell me." Willow huffed and pouted, grabbing her laptop beside her and snapping its lid open. "Speaking of Buffy, I've been checking out a bunch of memory spells that—"  
  
"No!" Spike exclaimed. "No spells."  
  
"But—"  
  
"No." He lay back down and closed his eyes, hoping that was the end of that.

**********

Buffy had tried to go about her day as she normally would by sticking to her usual routine. She'd tried to keep her mind off everything uncertain and confusing – the memories she'd lost, the girl on the tower, Spike, Slayers, and vampires. But by the time she'd gone to the diner for work, they were all she could think about. She'd been reprimanded thrice in one day for messing up customers' orders. She'd been distracted all day and had been unable to concentrate on anything else for long. Thoughts and questions flew around her mind like a tornado, destroying everything she thought she knew about herself.  
  
As she stepped out of the diner at the end of her shift, she felt the familiar shiver along the back of her neck and immediately knew Spike was there. She'd figured out that the sensation she'd been feeling when he was near wasn't just because she liked him. It had been her senses telling her something else entirely all along.  
  
"Are you stalking me now?" she said, wrapping her arms around herself, and turned to look in the direction of the dark alleyway beside the diner. She saw the glowing ember of a cigarette in the darkness before Spike emerged from the shadows.  
  
"Just making sure you're safe."  
  
He looked surprisingly better, she noticed. His bruises had already faded. "I think we've established that I can take care of myself," she said as she turned her back on him, determined to walk away.  
  
"Look, I know you don't trust me right now."  
  
She stopped in her tracks at his words but made no move to face him. When he came around in front of her, she reflexively shoved her hand inside her coat pocket for _something_ – she didn't know what – but only found loose change.  
  
"But a friend of yours is here. Don't know if it'll ring any bells, but her name's Willow." _Rosenberg_ , her mind quickly offered. He held out a piece of folded paper to her and said, "She can help you figure things out, if you want, whenever you're ready."  
  
She took the piece of paper and read it; it was a name of a motel and a phone number. She wanted to say some snappy comeback, something snarky and juvenile, but that would only make their conversation go on longer and she wasn't ready for that right now. So instead she mumbled, "I have to go," and pushed past him to cross the street. When she reached the other side, she glanced over her shoulder and saw he had gone. She'd expected him to follow her, but she was relieved – but also surprised and oddly disappointed – that he didn't.  
  
Once she arrived at her apartment, she immediately took off her uniform and held it up to stare at the nametag that said ‘Anne.' "That's not even my name," she scoffed. She tossed the uniform contemptuously onto the floor, changed into her pajamas, and went into the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, saying her real name repeatedly, as she brushed her hair.  
  
" _Buffy_. Buf- _fy_. _Buf_ -fy. Buffy."  
  
As weird as the name was, it seemed to roll off her tongue more naturally than ‘Anne' ever did. It sounded more natural too. ‘Anne' had always felt foreign to her, but she'd always thought it was just because of what had happened to her. Now she realized she'd never even went by that name. She wasn't used to it at all.  
  
"Buffy," she said again, firmly this time, as she ran a brush through her hair once more.  
  
After washing up, she crawled into bed and reached for the folded paper on her nightstand. She stared at it, studying the curves and strokes of Spike's handwriting, and felt something stir within her. She wondered if she could trust him enough to give him a chance to help her answer all the questions in her mind. To help her find herself. Hadn't that been the reason why he'd sought her out anyway?  
  
Relaxing herself as much as she could, she closed her eyes and soon, she drifted off to sleep thinking of him.  
  
Her dream started out as the memory of the night she'd found out how serious her mom's condition was. She was sitting on the steps of their back porch, crying with her head buried in her arms, just as she remembered. Her memory usually ended there, fading into black and leaving her feeling empty and hopeless. But in her dream, it went on as clear as day.  
  
The sound of a gun being cocked shattered the stillness of their backyard and she looked up, her cheeks still stained with tears. Standing in front of her was Spike with a gun in his hands. Anger, more than fear, rose in her. "What do you want now?" she said through her teeth.  
  
His eyes seemed dark with rage at first, but then his face softened. "What's wrong?" he asked, the concern in his voice genuine.  
  
She turned away from him, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Is there something I can do?"  
  
The thought hit her like a punch to the gut – there was nothing she or anyone could do. Her throat ached as she held back another bout of tears, so she said nothing. He sat beside her then and hesitantly placed a hand on her back in an attempt to comfort her.  
  
They sat in silence for a long while, and she started to feel somewhat lighter. Like he was helping her carry some of the weight on her chest just by being there, and she felt her heart begin to soften and open up to him.  
  
"It's my mom," she finally said. "She's staying overnight at the hospital for observation. They're doing a CAT scan."  
  
"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said quietly. "I'm sure it'll be fine. You Summers women are tough." Another attempt to comfort her. "How'd the Little Bit take it?"  
  
"She…" She trailed off as she thought about her.  
  
 _Little Bit_.  
  
 _Nibblet_.  
  
Her eyes fluttered open to a new day. Her head throbbed. "Dawnie," she whispered.  
  
More questions swirled into her mind and she needed answers. She picked up the phone on her nightstand and dialed the number on the paper. It rang once; Spike answered.  
  
"It's me."

  
**********

  
Spike and Willow were already sitting at a round table in the middle of the café they'd agreed to meet at when Buffy arrived that night. She hesitated by the door for a moment, her heart pounding against her chest and her stomach doing somersaults, and debated whether she should go through with this. Spike turned just in time, however, and saw her; there was no turning back now. Gathering her courage, she walked over to them. "Hey." She tried to sound as casual as she could.  
  
Spike started to get up from his stool and said, "I'll wait outside."  
  
"Please stay," Buffy said to him. When he sat back down, she turned to Willow. "Willow Rosenberg, right?"  
  
A hopeful smile played on Willow's lips. "You remember me?"  
  
"From tenth grade," Buffy said tentatively. Judging by the disappointment on Willow's face, they knew each other better than that. "Sorry," she said and ducked her head.  
  
"No, it's totally fine! I'm just really glad you're here," Willow replied with a warm, reassuring smile that Buffy tried to return. "Sorry, I already ordered. It's a mocha latte. But decaf. I get all jumpy when I drink too much coffee or drink it too late at night or when I… I'll shut up now."  
  
Buffy couldn't help but giggle. Strangely, she found Willow's babbling to be calming. "It's okay." She waved the waitress over to their table and ordered a cappuccino.  
  
"So… Where do you want to start?"  
  
"I'm Buffy Summers."  
  
Willow gave a curt nod.  
  
"And I'm the Slayer – whatever that means."  
  
"Oh! Oh! I get to give the Chosen One speech!" Willow said excitedly. "It goes ‘into each generation, a Slayer is born. One girl, in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread of evil, and the swell of their numbers.'" The smile on her face slipped when neither Buffy nor Spike joined in on her enthusiasm. "Giles does it better, I guess," she mumbled, and Buffy made a mental note to ask her who that was later. "It's the voice and the accent." She straightened her shoulders. "Anyway, vampires."  
  
"Vampires," Buffy echoed.  
  
"They're undead creatures of the night that feed on blood. Holy water, crosses, and garlic aren't their friends. Can be killed by a wooden stake through the heart, decapitation, or sunlight."  
  
Suddenly, something clicked in Buffy's mind and she gave Spike a quick sidelong glance. "And Spike is…"  
  
"A vampire," Willow said hesitantly. "B-but a good one! Most of the time. So no slaying of him, okay?"  
  
"That didn't even cross my mind," she said softly and fixed her eyes on her hands, not daring to see Spike's reaction.  
  
"Right. Okay. Great."  
  
As a lull in the conversation fell over the table, the waitress came back with her cappuccino. She wrapped her hands around the mug and let the warmth relax her further, as much as it could. Continuing the conversation, she asked Willow, "What about you?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
"You are?"  
  
"Just a plain human person."  
  
"A witch," Spike corrected Willow, chiming in on the conversation for the first time.  
  
"Okay, yeah, a witch." Willow rolled her eyes. "But normal. Well, normal by the Hellmouth's standards, anyway," she said and laughed nervously.  
  
Buffy crinkled her face. "Hellmouth?"  
  
"Uhm, maybe we should take a break," Willow suggested, fidgeting with the handle of her mug.  
  
"No, it's okay. I want to know. Really."  
  
"Okay," Willow said slowly with a hint of doubt in her tone. "A Hellmouth is like a weak spot in the barriers between dimensions, like a mystical hot spot, so it attracts all sorts of demons and stuff." She paused, as if trying to brace her for the next bit of information. "And Sunnydale is on one."  
  
Buffy pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Was that why I was there?"  
  
"Oh. Maybe. I-I think so." Willow glanced at Spike as if looking for confirmation. When Spike just shrugged, she took a long sip of her coffee before excusing herself and escaping momentarily from questions she wasn't sure how to answer. "I'll be right back. I need to go to the…" She pointed to an area that Buffy guessed was the restroom.  
  
"Sure," Buffy said and looked over at Spike. He was staring out the window of the café, drumming his fingers on the table. He'd been avoiding meeting her gaze all night – maybe out of guilt, or maybe regret.  
  
He finally looked at her when she asked him, "Did I do this to myself? The memory loss, I mean?"  
  
Spike perked up his eyebrows. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think, yeah. This all sounds so dangerous and scary. Maybe I wanted to forget."  
  
He titled his head to the side slightly and studied her before asking, "And what do you want now?"  
  
She took a few seconds to think about how to respond. She began with "I had a dream last night."  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her at first, seemingly confused if that was her answer to his question. Then he asked, "A prophetic one?"  
  
"I get those?"  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
"No, I don't think it was one of those." She paused. "It was… a memory. But you were there," she said, and he blinked at her curiously. "We were in our back porch, talking about my mom's… You asked about a Little Bit. You said the nickname so fondly." She chuckled softly. "Is she…" No, that wasn't right. She was the girl on the tower. She knew it. "Was she my sister?"  
  
"Yeah," he said almost inaudibly. "She was."  
  
She had a sister. She had a sister and she couldn't remember her. She'd lived this entire life that she remembered nothing about.  
  
She wanted to remember.  
  
"I think I want to go to Sunnydale. I want to go home."


	7. Chapter 7

After Buffy had declared that she wanted to go back to Sunnydale to try to recover the memories she'd rid herself of, Spike had went on this menacing speech about how she'd gone through an insanely risky procedure just to forget, had it done for a reason, and wouldn't like what she would remember. The thought terrified her, of course. But how was having this void inside her mind better? How was living with a huge part of her life, of herself, missing a good thing?  
  
When she'd assured them that she was certain it was what she wanted, they had given her an abridged and most likely censored version of the life she'd forgotten. She'd tried to ask them questions as much as she could, but most of them were met with a 'let's skip that for now' or a 'we'll talk about that later.' Still, she had been given a crap ton of information and she was still attempting to process it all. Remembering everything was hard, too.  
  
"I should have taken notes or something," she thought aloud as she and Willow ambled side by side along the sidewalk back to her apartment. Spike trailed behind them, hardly saying anything, especially to her – which seemed so unlike the Spike she'd come to know.  
  
Willow tittered, hooking her arm through hers. The action felt so familiar and welcoming that she leaned into her readily. "You'll be fine. Just don't think about it too much or your head might go kablooey!"  
  
And she did try not to think about it all too much when she got back to her apartment. But the night still crept by sleeplessly, filled with waking dreams of Sunnydale and thoughts of good and evil, Slayers and demons, Watchers and friends, her mom and her sister. The next morning went by like a speeding train, however, as she packed up her meager belongings – just three small boxes and a duffel bag in total – and prepared to leave behind the life she'd known for months.  
  
In the late afternoon Willow and Spike's friend, Jerry, finally arrived to pick her up in an old beat-down white – or more like a faded yellow – VW bug.  
  
Buffy paused before getting into the car and, trying her best to sound totally unconcerned, asked, "Where's Spike?"  
  
"He's riding back to Sunnydale tonight. You know, when he's less likely to go up in flames." Jerry briefly glanced up at the sky then resumed loading her things into the other side of the backseat.  
  
"Oh. Right," she muttered, chucked her bag in, and slid into the backseat behind Willow who sat in the passenger seat.  
  
Willow looked over her shoulder at her with a goofy grin on her face. "Don't worry. I'm sure Spike will be back home by tonight."  
  
"I'm not worried," she quickly insisted. Willow's grin grew wider in response and Buffy wondered how much she knew about what had happened between her and Spike that past week. Not that anything happened, really. Whatever it was had stopped before it even had the chance to start.  
  
The two-hour ride back to Sunnydale was mostly quiet except for Jerry's soft humming and the dull rumble of the car, which seemed to soothe her nerves. It wasn't until they got off the highway and into town and passed the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign that she felt a knot in her stomach. She stared out the window, her heart pounding wildly, as they drove by familiar buildings and houses, stopped at familiar intersections, and made familiar turns. Not long after, the car slowed down and stopped in front of 1630 Revello Drive.  
  
Buffy took a deep breath, got out of the car, and trudged toward the front door, wringing the strap of her duffel bag.  
  
Willow soon came up beside her, hugging a box to her chest. "Ready?" When Buffy nodded, she pushed the front door open, walked into the house, and called out, "We're back!"  
  
A dark blonde whose smile was warm and endearing emerged from the living room. "Welcome home, Buffy."  
  
"You must be Tara." Buffy felt her face relax into a soft smile. "It's nice to meet you. Or I guess we've already met."  
  
"I guess so." Tara giggled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But it _is_ nice to see you again. We've missed you."  
  
Before Buffy could even try to come up with an appropriate response, Jerry walked in and placed the rest of her boxes on the floor of the foyer. "This is all of it," he said. "I'm going to head on home while it's still early. Good luck with everything, Ms. Summers."  
  
"Thank you, Jerry," Buffy said.  
  
"Drive safe," Willow called after him as he headed out the door.  
  
Picking up one of her boxes, Buffy stammered, "Uhm, where will I be…"  
  
Willow started for the stairs. "Your room is just the way you left it."  
  
"We'll let you settle in," Tara said as she and Willow helped her carry her things up to her room. "A-and then, we'll have dinner."  
  
Willow did her little tongue-tucked-behind-her-teeth smile and gushed, "Tara's making roast chicken and mashed potatoes."  
  
"Sounds good," Buffy said with a smile of her own.  
  
Once they'd placed her things just inside the door and left, Buffy closed the door behind them and dropped her duffel bag onto the floor. She walked over to her desk and let her gaze wander over the photos tacked to the wall above it. She recognized some faces, but others, she couldn't. Stepping away, she absently trailed her fingertips through the fine layer of dust that had settled on her desk and went to her closet to skim through the clothes she'd left behind. Most of them had holes, tears, and remnants of stains – probably of grass, dirt, and blood – and she understood why she'd left them. They all had reminders of her life as the Slayer. Crossing over to her bookshelf, she grabbed Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig, and clutched it tightly to her chest as she sat on the edge of her newly made bed and glanced around the room.  
  
Everything seemed the same, untouched, but not everything felt familiar. She felt like a stranger in her own home, her own bedroom.  
  
She wondered how long before the feeling would pass.  
  
Right after the dinner filled with good food, light conversation, and laughter, she excused herself, saying she was turning in for the night, and went back upstairs to her room. Hours later, however, she was still wide awake, but it wasn't for a lack of trying. When it didn't seem like she was going to fall asleep any time soon, she got out of bed, changed into a comfy pair of pants, and pulled on a simple white long-sleeved top. Too focused on not making any noise as she sneaked down the stairs, she gasped in surprise when she heard Spike's voice.  
  
"Where do you think you're off to?" He stood in the archway leading to the dining room, carrying a box of what looked like his belongings, which apparently, to her amusement, included a yellow mug that read 'kiss the librarian.' It seemed like he was moving out of the house, probably thinking that it was the best thing to do under the circumstances.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing," she said, gesturing at the box in his hands.  
  
He angled his head in that adorable way of his – although she doubted 'adorable' was what he was going for – and said, "I asked first."  
  
She rolled her eyes but acquiesced. "I came here to get my memories back, so that's what I'm going to do." He raised a brow, urging her to explain. "I'm going to the tower. It might, I don't know, jog my memory." Not waiting for his response, she opened the front door and strode out into the night, leaving the door open, expecting him to follow her. Much to her satisfaction, she was barely halfway down the front walkway when he fell in on her left.  
  
"How do you plan on finding it, then?"  
  
"It's a huge crude tower. It's a small town. I don't think it'll be that hard." Absently, she turned right onto the sidewalk.  
  
"And you were, what, going to toddle around until you found it?"  
  
Buffy stopped and spun on her heel to face him, her face tight in annoyance. "When did you become such a sarcastic jerk?"  
  
He tipped his chin up. "Hate to break it to you, love, but this is how I've always been."  
  
"That's not how I remember it."  
  
"A lot of things you don't remember about me."  
  
"I'm not talking about…" She clenched and unfurled her fist, doing little to hide her frustration. "Was the past week all just an act?"  
  
Spike shifted from one foot to the other and sputtered like he was on the verge of some confession, and Buffy straightened expectantly. She wanted to know how he felt about her, wanted him to say it, so that maybe at least one thing about the past few crazy days would make sense. But then he seemed to stop and berate himself, the muscles of his jaw ticking. "Come on. I'll take you to the bloody tower," he reluctantly said instead and headed off the opposite direction. Buffy followed suit, dropping her shoulders in disappointment. "Lots of nasty buggers lurking about this time of night and you're not a hundred percent yet."  
  
Keeping her gaze forward, she considered what he meant by 'not a hundred percent yet.' Did he mean as Buffy? Or did he mean as the Slayer she was supposed to be? If it was the latter, well, she wasn't even at thirty. The whole Buffy thing had been easy to understand and come to terms with. But the Slayer thing? She still couldn't wrap her mind around it, let alone decide if she still wanted it.  
  
She came out of her thoughts just as he spoke again, and she studied him out of the corner of her eye. "I haven't apologized yet for…" He broke off and rolled his eyes upward, as if asking some higher being for the right words to say. "I hadn't planned on things going the way they did."  
  
One corner of her mouth tugged upward, and she teased, "This apology is starting off a lot like a non-apology."  
  
"To be fair, you were being extremely flirty with me."  
  
"Sounding more and more like a non-apology."  
  
Shaking his head, he came to a sudden halt and she did the same. He turned to face her, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally finding his voice. "I'm sorry," he finally said earnestly.  
  
"Spike, you don't have to apologize. I gave in to your charm of my own free will." She kept her tone playful, desperate to lighten the atmosphere, but the expression of guilt remained on his features. She licked her lips and exhaled. "Look, it's cool. We're cool. Let's just go back to being friends."  
  
He laughed derisively at that as he began to walk again. "Is that what you think we were?"  
  
"Why? Weren't we?"  
  
"We were _enemies_ , Slayer. Tried to kill you and your merry band of Slayerettes more than once. _Vampire_ , remember?" he said, putting too much emphasis on the words 'Slayer' and 'vampire' as if he were trying to really drive his point home. But she got it the night before. Loud and so very clear. Slayers slayed vampires. Slayers did _not_ date vampires.  
  
But, surely, there had to be an exception. "Yeah, but you're pulling for the good guys now, right? Because of the chip?"  
  
"Because of that, yeah." There was enough sarcasm in his voice for her not to have missed it.  
  
"So what are we?"  
  
"That's the question, isn't it?" he said under his breath and quickened his pace, like he wanted out of the conversation. Buffy sighed, deciding not to push it any further, and broke into a half-jog to keep up with him.  
  
After a few more minutes of walking in silence, Spike declared, "We're close." He gestured with his head at what looked like an abandoned construction site just a few paces ahead. They entered the site through an opening in the steel fence enclosing it and looked up at the tower. Buffy's jaw dropped in awe.  
  
"I haven't been back here since…" Spike started, and she pivoted her head to look at him. He didn't say anything for a long minute and when he did speak again, his voice was raw with pain and anger. "It was my fault. I was right there. I'd untied her, had her in my grasp. But then Doc…" The next words died away on his lips and his chest heaved as he pulled in a shaky, unneeded breath. Then he said, his voice so quiet and low that she barely heard him, "I'd made a promise to you, to protect her until the end of the world. I broke that promise."  
  
Buffy then came to understand why he'd seemed reluctant to go here. He blamed himself for what had happened to her sister. He probably blamed himself for what she'd done to herself, too. And she wanted to comfort him, to tell him it wasn't his fault, that there wasn't anything else he could have done. But she didn't feel like she had any right to say anything about what had happened right now, not in her condition. So, instead, she reached out and took his hand in hers. He brought his gaze down to stare at their joined hands for a moment, and when he raised his gaze to meet hers, she offered him a half-smile and gave his hand a light squeeze. Surprisingly, he squeezed back, his thumb sweeping over her skin, before easing his hand from hers and plodding toward the tower. With a small smile, she followed him.  
  
Just as she set foot on the first step of the stairs, he cautioned, "Don't reckon it's safe to climb up there," and she turned to him with a firm look of resolve on her face. The way he pursed his lips and slumped his shoulders told her he'd seen that face plenty of times before and knew he couldn't stop her even if he tried. "Be careful."  
  
She nodded and proceeded to tread up the stairs, ladders, and ramps, pausing every once in a while when the tower would totter, until she was at the top. Until she was at the front end of the platform.  
  
Until she was where she'd stood when it had happened.  
  
She could envision Dawn at the edge of the platform vividly. She could see the ball of energy illuminating her from behind. Her hair dancing in the wind. Her dress slightly billowing out as she turned… and then leaped.  
  
There had been no last words, no goodbyes. There had only been that last look between them, that little smile of resignation and understanding.  
  
Tears fought their way to the surface. They burned in her throat. They welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. And she let them.  
  
When the tower shook again, she composed herself, squeezing her eyes shut and wiping away the tears from her face. It terrified her to think that she hadn't even begun to feel the full weight of her loss. But she knew she needed to grieve and go through the pain to be able to truly heal and move on.  
  
Drawing in a tremulous breath, she carefully made her way back down.  
  
Once Spike saw her at the bottom of the stairs, he pushed himself off the crate he'd been sitting on and moved toward her. "You all right?"  
  
"I think I will be," she said softly. "Let's go home."  
  
Once they were along the main street, Spike spoke again. "I'll take you to her some time, if you want."  
  
"I'd like that," Buffy replied and edged a little closer to him, her arm almost brushing his. "Maybe when I remember more about her." Remorse laced her words. She couldn't possibly visit her sister's grave. Not now. Not like this. Not when she'd chosen to forget her.  
  
"I'd wager she'd be pissed off that I haven't visited of late," he said, fished out a pack of smokes from his coat pocket and pulled a cigarette out of it with his teeth.  
  
"Were you two close?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"What was she like?"  
  
"A stubborn, spoiled brat." He let out a wistful chuckle as he lit his cigarette with his Zippo. Then in all seriousness, "The Bit was strong. Brave. Hell of a lot like you."  
  
A faint smile crossed her face. "I wish I could remember."  
  
"You will," he assured her, and something in the way he'd said it made her believe him.  
  
There was a quiet between them as they walked along Revello Drive. It settled over them like a soft wool blanket, warm and comfortable, lulling her into a sense of peace.  
  
Yeah, she will be all right.  
  
When they got home, they bid each other good night in the foyer, and she started to head up to her room. Midway up the stairs she paused, turning to look at him. "Spike?" she said as he picked up his box from the floor where he'd left it. He looked up at her. "You're staying, right?"


	8. Chapter 8

It was still dark outside when Buffy woke the next morning, having slept better than she'd had in days. She didn't know if it had been her visit to the tower or her talk with Spike about Dawn that did it, but she was more sure now that going back to Sunnydale had not been a bad idea after all. Little by little, she was remembering more about the life and the sister she'd chosen to forget, like missing pieces of a puzzle falling into their rightful places. She didn't know yet what the big picture would look like once all the pieces came together, but maybe it would show her the way back to who she'd been and who she was supposed to be.  
  
After lying in bed for a little while longer, she padded downstairs, turned into the dining room and, when the hair on the back of her neck prickled, she smiled to herself. Spike had stayed like she'd asked him to.  
  
She stepped into the half-light of the kitchen where she found him standing by the island, carefully pouring a bag of what looked like blood into a mug. The sight surprised her at first, but what surprised her more was that she wasn't as uncomfortable or grossed out by it as she thought she should be. It must have been something she'd seen before.  
  
"Morning. Something smells funky."  
  
"That'd be me," he said, briefly glancing down at the smears of yellow-greenish goo on his shirt. "Sorry. Didn't think anyone would be awake yet."  
  
"You just got back?"  
  
"Yeah. Did a quick patrol after our little adventure. Had to wrestle a Limus demon." He grimaced then grumbled, "Slimy bastard."  
  
Buffy crinkled her nose at the image of the huge slug-looking thing she'd conjured up in her head. "Sounds icky."  
  
Spike just shrugged nonchalantly, as if icky demons were nothing out of the ordinary. And maybe to them, they weren't. "You've dealt with worse."  
  
Offering him no response, she moved around the kitchen, taking out a bowl, a spoon, and a box of cereal. Talking about Slayer stuff – gross, gooey demons even more so – wasn't exactly how she'd wanted to start her day, her first full day back in Sunnydale, especially since she hadn't even had breakfast yet.  
  
Thankfully, he seemed to pick up on her thoughts and quickly steered the conversation into something less Slayer-y. "You're up early. Didn't sleep well?" he asked as he put his mug in the microwave and pressed the start button.  
  
"I slept great, actually. Short but great," she said, filling her bowl with cereal.  
  
"No memories, then?"  
  
"A couple. But they were good ones. Mostly about Dawn." She paused as she retrieved milk from the fridge, conveniently turning her back to him, before saying, "One was about you."  
  
He hesitated, as if he wanted to ask her something, but then he said, "Doubt any memory you'd have of me would be considered good."  
  
He was right for the most part. The memory had involved a severely thrashed version of him and a 'gross and obscene' robot. And at first she'd felt mad and disgusted, and seemingly rightly so. But then he'd gone on about not being able to live with her being in pain, that he'd rather die – and nearly had – than do anything that would hurt her or Dawn… Hearing him say it out loud and seeing the intensity of his emotions in his bloodshot, almost swollen-shut eyes had so broken down and through something inside her, something hard and callous and cold, that she'd kissed him.  
  
"How's that work, anyway? The memories in your dreams?" he asked, cutting into her thoughts.  
  
She eased herself into a stool across from him with her bowl of cereal and inhaled deeply. "They're all," she let out a breath, "very vivid. They don't feel like dreams, I guess. They feel real. It's like I'm actually in those moments, living them, experiencing them for the first time." The thought of the sisterly memories she'd dreamt about that night tugged her lips into a smile and she shifted her gaze to her bowl. "I know you said she was this mystical energy key, that she wasn't really my sister, but I felt… I feel this connection to her. Stronger than…" She shook her head and looked up at him again. "It was nice feeling how much I loved her. Or how much she annoyed me," she said with a soft chuckle.  
  
When he seemed to wait for her to go on, she debated telling him more about her memory-dream of him instead, to bring up what they'd started talking about last night. To ask him why she felt _this way_ about him, because of course he would know. Because she sure as hell didn't. But the microwave beeped its protest, and Spike turned to it, breaking their gaze.  
  
This time, it was her turn to veer the topic elsewhere. "What's the story with the mug?"  
  
His eyebrows went up in a curious expression. "Story? How'd you figure that?" he said before taking a huge gulp of his blood.  
  
"You like librarians that much?" she teased.  
  
He chuckled faintly and then stared at the mug nestled in his hands. "It has sentimental value," he said, and from the glimmer of nostalgia in his blue eyes, she could see that he was harking back to whatever memories it held.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"When I got this chip in my head, I came to you lot for help. Didn't exactly get it," he chortled, amusement lighting his eyes, "but I stayed with the Watcher for a bit after that. Had me chained to a bathtub; was fed from this damn thing."  
  
She frowned and raised a confused brow. She sensed there was something more to it than that but instead of asking further about it, she chose to ask, "And that was a good thing?"  
  
He gave her one of his patented tilts of the head. "Brought me here, didn't it?"  
  
And then she suddenly found herself lost in him, in his face, in his lips, her bowl of cereal completely forgotten and going soggier by the second. When he gulped down the rest of his blood, she caught herself and glanced away, shoveling a spoonful of the now mushy cereal into her mouth. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, you'll be here for that thing tonight, right?"  
  
"Ah. The big Scooby reunion," he said as he set his mug in the sink. "'Fraid I'm not one for group hugs and Hallmark moments."  
  
"There'll be none of that, not if I can help it."  
  
"No," he drawled.  
  
"Come on," she pleaded and not-so-subtly stuck out her bottom lip in a pretend pout, fixing him with her best puppy dog eyes. "Please?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her and leaned forward on the island on his hands, grinning. "Think that'll work on me, do you? You're daft."  
  
"What?" she said, giving him her most innocent look. "Come _on_. It'll be fun! And funny. You'll have a front row seat to the whole awkward reintroduction thing." She saw him wince slightly at her joke but tried to keep it hidden by keeping the grin on his face. "Don't make me drag you out of the basement," she added and held up her chin to boot.  
  
"All right, fine," he gave in, rolling his eyes playfully, grin still firmly in place. "I'll be here."  
  
"Great!" She beamed. "Now go clean up," she said, gesturing with her spoon. "You stink and I need to eat."  
  
Shaking his head and chuckling, he obeyed and headed out of the kitchen and upstairs.  
  
  
  
Giles arrived first that evening – in a red convertible, no less. And, mid-life crisis vehicle aside, he was everything she'd expected from a stereotypical British librarian, all prim and proper, although he seemed slightly less of a stiff than she'd anticipated and wasn't wearing a stuffy tweed suit.  
  
After exchanging reintroductions and pleasantries, they went into the living room and Giles wasted no time and got straight to business. "I expect they have also told you about your calling," he said as he sat on one end of the sofa, gesturing for her to sit beside him.  
  
She moved to sit on the other end. "Uh-huh. They gave me the Cliffs Notes version of 'My So-Called Slayer Life.'"  
  
He flashed her an amused smile and took off his glasses. "I'm sure you still feel somewhat disoriented and, uhm," he started polishing his glasses on a white handkerchief, "that you need some time to readjust. But perhaps after enough time has passed…" He trailed off, seemingly uncomfortable with what he'd planned on saying.  
  
But she knew what he'd meant to say. He was her Watcher, after all. He had a job to do. "I'm not sure. I'm…" She chewed on the inside of her cheek. She wanted to be polite and say she was sorry, but she really wasn't. "I haven't decided yet."  
  
"Yes, o-of course. I understand," Giles said, nodding, and then glanced down and away as he put his glasses back on. He took a moment before looking back up at her and adding, "For what it's worth, I'm glad to have you home." He looked at her then as if he wanted to give her a hug and suddenly she felt like she needed one. But, instead, he put a hand on her upper arm, giving it a firm squeeze, and smiled at her fondly, like a father would his daughter, like her father had when she'd been younger.  
  
A lump rose in her throat from a rush of emotions she wasn't ready for. She swallowed hard to try to force it back down before attempting to speak. "Giles, I—" she stopped barely mid-sentence when Spike walked into the living room from the kitchen, and relief washed over her features.  
  
"Rupert."  
  
"Spike," Giles greeted him. "Might I have a word?" When Spike gave him a quick nod, he excused themselves, stood up, and led him into the dining room.  
  
A dull ache started to settle at the back of Buffy's head as she followed them with her gaze as they left the room. Abandoning her plans to eavesdrop on the two, she let out a breath, leaned back on the sofa, and closed her eyes. When she felt a gentle tapping on her shoulder, she opened her eyes again.  
  
"They're here," Willow told her.  
  
She glanced at the clock, surprised that she'd dozed off for quite a while. "Okay," she replied distractedly.  
  
The words she'd heard Giles say in her dream rang in her mind: 'I'm so proud of you. You've come so far. You're everything a Watcher… everything I could have hoped for.' She'd been wrong about him. He was more than just her Watcher, and she was more than just a Slayer, more than just a job to him. She'd seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. Guilt and regret began to gnaw at her and tears swelled in her eyes. How could she have forgotten about Dawn? About these people? About God knew who else? She'd been selfish and stupid, and now she had to deal with the consequences.  
  
When she heard the front door open and close, she hurriedly blinked the unshed tears away and took a deep breath before standing up and following Willow to the foyer where Xander and Anya stood waiting.  
  
Willow quickly made the necessary introductions, while Xander worked in a couple of jokes and Anya made some inappropriate – but truthful – remarks that eased the somewhat tense and awkward atmosphere.  
  
"I think I remember you from my first day at Sunnydale High," she said to Xander. She could distinctly remember their first meeting because his very first sentence to her had been 'Can I have you?' and she'd found it kind of creepy… in a funny sort of way. But, in any case, she'd given him nice guy points for helping her out with her things.  
  
Xander gave her an embarrassed chuckle, probably recalling the same thing. "Well, I'm much, much cooler now."  
  
Suddenly, Spike was standing right beside her. He snorted and said, "Hardly," warranting a glare from Xander.  
  
"Who invited the evil dead?" Xander asked, although it seemed more of a rhetorical question, while Anya asserted, "But it's true. When I came to Sunnydale to grant a wish for Cordelia because Xander cheated on her with Willow when Spike abducted and locked them up in that old burned down factory, he was a complete loser."  
  
Buffy's eyebrows drew together, not having kept up with the rollercoaster of information. "Grant a wish for who because why when what?"  
  
"I-I think that's a story for another day," Willow stammered, her face bright red, and she ushered them all into the dining room.  
  
Dinner went better than she'd expected. It was padded with small talk, exchanging of memories and anecdotes, and compliments about the food. The conversation was deliberately kept light and lively, and everyone danced around the subject of her situation. She knew they were just making sure that she was having a good time, which she found that she was. It was a welcome distraction from all her thoughts and feelings; a night away from the craziness that surrounded her.  
  
When they'd finished eating, she helped Tara clear away the dishes and carry them into the kitchen as everyone else moved into the living room. As she placed the dishes in the sink, she could see Tara studying her out of the corner of her eye.  
  
"How are you feeling, Buffy?"  
  
"Like I could burst. I'm so stuffed," Buffy said, rubbing her stomach for emphasis. "I think I went overboard with the mashed potatoes again."  
  
"N-no, I m-meant—"  
  
"I knew what you meant," she said with a sheepish little giggle. "I'm fine, Tara. Really." She fixed her with her best version of a reassuring smile. "But… thank you for asking."  
  
A corner of Tara's mouth twisted upward in a crooked grin. "If you ever need someone to talk to…"  
  
"I'm going to hold you to that offer."  
  
"Counting on it," Tara said, and her grin spread wider across her face. She turned to leave and asked, pointing her thumb in the direction of the living room, "Are you coming?"  
  
Barely any sound could be heard from the living room. No chatter, no movement. It was almost too quiet; like everyone there was talking in hushed voices, probably about her. She was sure there would be more serious discussions once she'd joined them there, and she decided to stall for some time to think.  
  
"I'll follow in a bit," she told Tara, who nodded and walked off. Once Tara had gone, she slipped away quietly to the back porch where Spike was sitting on the steps, looking up at the sky as if deep in thought.  
  
She could think out here with him.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He turned to look at her, a smile breaking over his face. "Hey, yourself."  
  
"How come you're hiding out here?" she said as she eased down beside him.  
  
He exhaled a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, away from her. "I've had enough chit-chat for one night." He flicked his cigarette away and they both watched as it plummeted onto the grass.  
  
"I know what you mean," she said and leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees and cupping her chin in her hands. They stared out into the darkness of the night for a few wordless moments before she cast him a sideways glance. "I think Giles wants me to start with the slayage again. He brought it up earlier. Or, he tried to, anyway."  
  
"I heard," he said, and when she gave him a quizzical look, he pointed to his right ear. "Vampire hearing."  
  
"Oh." She lifted her brows. "Cool."  
  
Silence hung in the air for another beat, then he said, "It's your life, Buffy. Still your choice, isn't it? Sod all they could do about what you decide to do."  
  
She set her hands on either side of her and skewed her lips to one side. "I sense a 'but' coming."  
  
"But," he emphasized with a facetious grin, "you could choose to walk away, not to fight; you'll still be the Slayer. Always. You can't cut it out of you. It's part of who you are. It's in your blood."  
  
Deep down she knew he was right. After her first encounter with vampires since her memory loss, she'd become hyperaware of the undeniable strength and power coursing through every fiber of her being. She'd felt it even before that, all the time, but she'd ignored it because she hadn't known what it was. And now she knew. That didn't make it any easier to accept, however.  
  
Not knowing what else to say, she quipped, "You vampires and your blood," and they shared a laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

Deciding to stay because Buffy had wanted him to had to be one of the most idiotic things he'd ever done. It was right up there, competing for the top spot, with going back to Sunnyhell again and again even after all those spectacular kickings of his ass. Every day alone with her became more and more painful until it was absolute bloody agony. And he had no one else to blame. He'd turned the Summers' house into his personal torture chamber, testing the limits of his self-control and moral compass, both of which he had very little, and yet he hadn't been able bring himself to leave or stay away.  
  
It'd be easier if she didn't seem like the same Buffy he knew. It'd be easier to ignore her, pretend he was unbothered. But she smiled the same, pouted the same, butchered the English language the same, dressed the same. He'd wager she'd even punch the same. Apart from the way she was treating him and looking at him and talking to him, she was Buffy Anne Summers down to a bleedin' T.  
  
And on some days, he wanted to just go for it. To say to hell with doing the right thing. Take this chance to finally be with her, have her while he could. Make her fall in love with him knowing it was the best chance he'd ever get. And even if she'd one day wake up and remember all the horrible things he'd done and leave him or hate him even more than she'd had before, being with her for how ever long she'd stayed would probably give him enough happiness to last him the rest of eternity – assuming he'd still want to live that long by then.  
  
But on most days, he wasn't completely off his rocker or, hell, even selfish. He knew this time shouldn't be about him or his feelings for her. It was about helping her get her memories back. Helping her finally deal with her loss and grieve. Helping her find her place in this sorry world without her mum and her sister. And if she'd ever decide to be the Slayer again, it would be about being at her side, helping her fight the fight.  
  
Thank God things were bound to become less hard for him – in more ways than one – once she started going to university with Willow and Tara to audit the rest of their summer session classes. She would be gone for most of the day and he would stay out all night. There. Problem solved without actually solving the bleedin' problem. And he was glad for her, too. Sure, she was still trying to live the normal life, but at least here, she was going to do something she'd obviously enjoyed before her mum became sickly and her little sis turned out to be a soddin' mystical key.  
  
But that wouldn't start for a few more days, so he settled for hiding out in the basement until sunset for the time being. And he was doing just that when he heard her footsteps on the basement stairs. Usually she stayed upstairs, going through photo albums and yearbooks, rummaging through shelves and drawers, looking for anything tangible from her life as the Slayer, or rifling through her weapons chest. Today it seemed she had other ideas.  
  
Maybe he should move out. Maybe tonight he finally would.  
  
"Spike? You awake yet?"  
  
He held his tongue as he contemplated whether or not he should pretend to still be asleep before deciding to answer her. "Yeah." He propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm up."  
  
"Nothing," she muttered sullenly as she walked over toward him.  
  
He sat up on his cot, the blanket pooling at his waist, and looked up at her. When he saw her eyes jerk up from his bare chest, he bit back a smirk and the urge to tease her. "What's that now?"  
  
"No new memory again last night," she said, pulling a chair from the table near his cot, and slumping down on it. "It's the fourth night in a row."  
  
"Don't rush it, pet."  
  
"I'm not rushing! I'm just…" She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands briefly before straightening. "I hate this."  
  
Ashamed of the relief that had rose in him just moments ago, he ducked his head slightly and peered at her from under his brows. It wasn't that he didn't want her to have her memory-dreams. It was just that her past held a great deal of pain and loss and the thought of her going through them again even through her dreams had him worried, so much so that he'd had Willow immediately tell her about all the horrible bits about her past that they'd decided not telling her before. But he knew knowing the occurrence of something was not the same as remembering it. He knew it wasn't enough. "Have you gone into the Bit's room? Might trigger more memories."  
  
She blinked at him as if considering the idea, and then lowered her eyes to her hands clasped in her lap. "No. I don't think I'm ready yet."  
  
"Won't know until you try, now will you?"  
  
"Maybe tomorrow," she said, still staring glumly at her hand.  
  
"Won't be any easier tomorrow."  
  
Her face softened as she raised her eyes to him, then she asked in a hushed tone, "Will you come with me?"  
  
Without hesitation, he said, "Of course," and pointed at his shirt draped over the chair next to her. She quickly swept it off the chair and, with her face flushed pink, reached out to hand it to him. He couldn't help but crack a smirk as he tugged it on over his head.  
  
They made their way upstairs in silence, neither of them wanting to spoil the moment with senseless chatter. He tuned in to her heartbeat that slowly began to quicken when they reached the stairs leading to the second floor. And once they came to Dawn's door, she paused for a good minute before tentatively reaching out a hand and pulling it back instantly when her fingers touched the doorknob.  
  
"Here," he offered, then turned the knob, and pushed.  
  
As soon as the door opened, Dawn's scent hit him like a punch in the gut. Her scent had started to fade but it was still stronger here than anywhere else in the house. It swirled thick around him and, feeling pain grip his chest, he stepped back into the doorway and leaned against it. He focused his senses on Buffy to pull himself together. He watched as she took her time wandering around the room, reverently touching things with the tips of her fingers, until she stopped at the desk and picked up a silver picture frame with a photo of her with her mum and Dawn. She moved to sit at the side of the bed and stared at the photo for a long while. Then the scent of tears hit the air.  
  
"I can't believe I did this to her. To everyone." She swallowed hard and pressed her trembling lips together. "It was stupid of me. And selfish. And weak."  
  
"Hey, none of that," he said as he came toward her and sank to his knees, tilting her chin up so she met his gaze. It tore him up inside to see her like this, to hear her condemn herself, and he wished nothing more than to prove her wrong, to show her what he saw every time he looked at her. But right now, all he had were his words. His words that had never mattered to her before; he hoped they did now. "You're the smartest, strongest, most selfless person I know."  
  
She rolled her eyes, more tears spilling down her cheeks, and turned her face away from him. "Doesn't seem like it," she sniffled.  
  
Giving in to the impulse, he reached up and wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb. That she was allowing him to comfort her and touch her like this still amazed him. "You've had a tough time of it, is all."  
  
She fixed her eyes on his again. "Does that make what I did right?"  
  
"No, I suppose it doesn't," he said, and her eyes grew wide at his honesty. "But it doesn't matter, does it? You don't have to justify what you did to anyone. You did what you needed then, and you're doing what you need now."  
  
She bit her lip to try to hide its quivering before she spoke again. "What if I don't remember?" Her voice was small and thin, as if it were on the edge of breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. He wanted to hold her together.  
  
"Then you'd still be you," he began after some thought, as if it had just dawned on him. "You're more than your memories, Buffy. You're still you. Still the same old stubborn Slayer I f—" he stopped himself, realizing what he was about to say. "Still the same old Buffy." Heaving a sigh, he moved to sit beside her, and added, "Smell the same, too," knowing he could get a laugh and that adorable crinkle of her nose.  
  
She let out a choked chuckle and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "You're gross." Then after a while, she said, "Thank you."  
  
Feigning modesty, he shrugged. He wondered if she could see right through him. "Hardly did anything."  
  
"You've done a lot," she insisted, her eyes never leaving his.  
  
And they stared at each other for what seemed like an unbearable eternity before he tore his gaze from hers and stood, his hands on his waist. There it was again, that bleedin' voice in the back of his head telling him to sod it and just kiss her. To gather his senses, he shook his head, clenching his jaw and focusing on the floor, and he realized she was right – he'd done a lot. Done a lot to bugger up her chance at happiness after all the shit she'd gone through. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be in L.A. blissfully unaware. You'd be happy," he said, almost in a whisper, looking at her sideways.  
  
Her lips pursed together then she shook her head. "I don't think that's true. I think—"  
  
"Rot."  
  
"—sooner or later, I would have figured out something was off, and I would have wanted to find answers. I'm just glad I'm doing it now, with you and everyone else helping me."  
  
That shut him up. Yet again, she was right. She had always been clever after all. One way or another, she would have sussed out that the accident was nothing more than a cover-up. Of course she would.  
  
His mouth twitched slightly. "Think you're smart, do you?"  
  
"Well, smarter than you, that's for sure," she deadpanned, a hint of a teasing twinkle in her eyes.  
  
"Ha-ha" was his eloquent and witty comeback.  
  
She laughed quietly – he loved that sound – but it quickly faded into a slight frown. Standing to return the picture frame to its place, she said, "I think I'm going to go lay down for a bit. My head's killing me."  
  
Worry marring his brow, he gazed after her.

**********

Spike found himself in the middle of yet another Scooby meeting. He'd always hated these things. Hated the boring shop talk. Hated the usual prattle in between even more so. Hated it significantly less when it was about Buffy but hated it all the same. But here he was, attending, contributing.  
  
Giles sat at the end of the dining table, his elbows resting on its surface and hands clasped together before him, as he repeated what Spike had just told them. "She hasn't recovered new memories."  
  
"Headaches seem to be getting worse, too," he said and leaned back against the wall by the kitchen.  
  
Letting out a "hmm," Giles removed his glasses and nibbled on the earpiece thoughtfully while Tara turned a bit to look at Spike. "So not taking the pills isn't working anymore?"  
  
"I suppose so," he answered and then pointedly looked at Willow who was sitting at the other end of the table beside Tara. "But no need to do anything rash now."  
  
Willow's mouth fell open as if offended. "Why are you looking at _me_?" she asked indignantly, although he knew she knew exactly what he'd meant.  
  
"Of course," Giles went on, ignoring the slight digression, as he took out his handkerchief and began cleaning his glasses, "it'd be of great help if we had more information about the specifics of the procedure she'd undergone or what it was that she'd been taking."  
  
"No luck so far on the 'net." Willow gestured grimly at the laptop in front of her. "And I've been scouring for days."  
  
"Already called Jerry," he began then paused to stick a fag between his teeth. "He'll find out more."  
  
"Yes, well, you could have done that yourself when you were there had you not been distracted." There was that edge of anger in Giles' tone that Spike had heard too many times before, most of the time directed at him, that he was practically impervious to it now.  
  
"Plan was to bring home her, yeah? I did that," he retorted as he patted his pockets for his lighter. And just to brass off the Watcher more, he added with a mocking smirk, "You're welcome."  
  
Before he could light his cigarette, an invisible force snatched it from his lips and tossed it onto the floor. Knowing it was Willow who did it to spite him for his earlier remark, he scowled at her, and she grinned triumphantly in return. Grumbling, he picked it up.  
  
"Hey, Buffy," Tara suddenly piped up and they all followed her gaze toward the archway leading to the foyer. "Feeling better?"  
  
"Much," Buffy said with a nod. The weariness in her eyes told him differently but he chose to say nothing. "What's going on? Is this a meeting?"  
  
"No, no." Giles replaced his glasses. "I'd come to see how you were doing and, uhm, we began discussing your… situation."  
  
"Oh," was all Buffy said as she slid into the chair next to Giles, her eyes briefly flicking in Spike's direction. "Speaking of, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and maybe it's time I get back into my old routine. Like patrolling."  
  
A small smile slowly crept over Giles' face, and he tried to keep his voice level but Spike could clearly hear his delight and relief as he spoke. "Very well, then. Come by the Magic Box tomorrow so we could assess your combat skills and decide accordingly."

**********

There was nothing like a spot of violence to take the edge off and clear his head of thoughts of the Slayer. Unfortunately for him, the night had shaped up to be one of the slowest nights in quite a long while. Worse, Xander wouldn't stop yammering about his staying at the Summers' house and getting into Buffy's pants. He'd been bringing it up, hounding him about it every chance he'd get since Buffy had gotten back, and he showed no sign of relenting. Spike couldn't care less what he thought, however, and would just tune him out, not even dignifying him with any sort of response.  
  
After they'd finally called it a night and Xander had gone home, Spike went to Dawn's grave beneath the largest oak tree in the cemetery. It had become a ritual, this nightly visit to her. At times he'd bring her flowers, or those sour candies that she'd seemed to like. But most of the time, he'd just find comfort in this beautiful and peaceful spot and discuss the day's events with his Little Bit.  
  
"'Lo, Dawnie. Not much to tell again today, 'cept me and big sis went into your room for the first time since… But it was just for a little while. Hope you don't mind. And I didn't nick anything, if that's what you're thinking. Or, maybe I did because I'm _evil_." He fell silent for a moment as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and nudged a stone with the tip of his boot before kneeling. "Slayer's got herself into quite a pickle, hasn't she?" he said softly as he started to tidy up the grave, pulling up the few weeds that had sprung up and tossing aside the dry leaves and twigs strewn upon it. "But not to worry, I'll take care of her. I promise." And it was a promise he intended to keep no matter what.  
  
He sat by her grave for another hour, telling her more stories from his sordid past that he hadn't been able to tell her yet, before making his way back to the Summers' house. When he reached the backyard, he saw that the kitchen light was on and was sure who it was that was still up at that hour. He let himself in through the backdoor and looked amusedly at the sight before him: Buffy, dressed in a tank-top and pajama pants, was reading from a large ancient-looking leather-bound book.  
  
She looked up at him from the book spread out in front of her. "Hey. How was patrol?"  
  
"Disappointing," he said as he shrugged off his coat and placed it on the kitchen island. "No nasties lurking about tonight."  
  
"Bummer."  
  
He gestured at the book with his chin. "Doing some light reading, are you?"  
  
"Yeah. I figured I needed to brush up on my demon knowledge," she said, and he arched a brow in doubt. "Fine, you caught me." She closed the book with a thump. "I was bored to tears by page three. I just… couldn't sleep."  
  
Spike nodded and then moved about the kitchen, filling the kettle, setting it to boil on the stove, and spooning cocoa into a pair of mugs, all the while Buffy watched him with curiosity. "How about some hot cocoa?"  
  
"Yes, please," she said brightly and pushed the volume aside.  
  
Silence filled the room as they waited for the kettle to boil. But it was a nice, companionable silence, which they seemed to share more and more of late.  
  
"Your mum used to make this for me," he said as he poured boiling water into the mugs.  
  
"Sounds like you two got along well." There was a faint note of surprise in her voice and it occurred to him that they hadn't talked about Joyce once since she'd mentioned her during their date.  
  
"I liked her well before I liked any of you lot."  
  
A nostalgic smile lit her face. "She's a very likeable woman."  
  
"That, she is," he agreed with a nostalgic smile of his own.  
  
After a moment's hesitation, he sat on the stool beside her, near enough that the skin of her arm hummed against his and the nearness of her, the scent of her hair and her body intoxicated him, sending his senses reeling. But he made a great show of being unaffected by her proximity, and began telling her about how he'd first met Joyce and about all the other times she'd been nice to him as she drank her hot cocoa, listening intently to him, much like her mum had before.  
  
They went on talking for hours over their beverages, trading stories about Joyce and whatever else came to mind, oblivious of the time passing, until it was nearly dawn. When she saw how late it was and announced that she needed to go to bed, he wanted to ask her to stay a little longer, to talk with him more, but he let the moment pass.  
  
It took him by surprise when she turned back to him before leaving. "I really like talking with you, Spike," she said.  
  
A warmth filled his unbeating heart and a grin nudged his lips. "I really like talking with you, too, Buffy."  
  
"Good." A tinge of laughter was in her voice. He'd never tire of hearing it. "Good night."  
  
"Good night," he said and watched as she sauntered down the hall. At the end of it, she turned again briefly, casting a smile at him over her shoulder, before disappearing from view.  
  
He sighed.  
  
Maybe he should really move out. Maybe tomorrow he finally would.


	10. Chapter 10

Spike had tried to pretend that patrolling with Buffy again wasn't something he was looking forward to. But truth be told, he was thrilled at the thought of fighting alongside her once more. He knew he'd be treading on thin ice to be that close to her in a fight or after a kill, but it would be nothing a series of cold showers couldn't fix. He'd done that plenty of times before, hadn't he? Of course, things between them had been very different then. She'd hated him, felt disgusted by him, tolerated him, used him as muscle. And now… now, she was leaving him notes on the refrigerator door.  
  
When he arrived at the Magic Box that evening – where her note had said she and Willow would be, the 'closed' sign was already up but he pushed the door open and went inside without so much as a knock knowing the lot of them seemed to have a habit of leaving doors unlocked. The jingle of the little bell over the door drew her and Willow's attention and they looked up at him from where they were sitting at the round table.  
  
"Hey." Buffy smiled when she saw him – a smile that broke like sunlight over her face. And it still took a lot for him not to crumble into a pile of dust every time she would no matter how many times she'd done it.  
  
"Have you got the Watcher's seal of approval?"  
  
His question was answered as Giles came out of the training room moving stiffly like he was sore all over. Spike couldn't help but snicker at the state he was in, all disheveled and pained, and the Watcher didn't seem to appreciate this too much because he glared at him. "Yes, she did well," he said, wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. "Extremely well."  
  
A proud and slightly amused smile passed over Buffy's face. "He means I did better than he'd expected."  
  
Spike smirked, placing his hands on his hips, and the words "That's my girl" tumbled out of his lips before he even had time to think and stop them. Ignoring the various expressions around the room – Giles' frown, Willow's teasing grin, and Buffy's surprised but pleased look, he dropped his hands to his sides and jerked his head toward the door. "Shall we, then?"  
  
"Actually, we were thinking of heading to The Bronze first," she said as she got up from her seat, a sheepish little look crossing her face. "Y-you should come with."  
  
"No, it's all right." He waved a hand airily to feign indifference. "You go on and have fun. I'll cover patrol tonight."  
  
"Don't be a doo-doo head. You're coming," Willow said firmly as she passed by him, headed for the door.  
  
"I—"  
  
"Great! Then it's settled." Buffy tugged him by the arm, beaming, before he could pretend to protest.  
  


**********

  
The three of them worked their way through the usual Friday night crowd at The Bronze to get to the table that the rest of her friends had already commandeered. Much to his chagrin, it barely had enough room for five, let alone six, people. There had to have been slim pickings, or they had no idea he was going to be there. Judging by the more-than-expected hostile welcome he received from the early birds, he wagered it was the latter.  
  
"Why is _he_ here?" asked Xander, his face contorted into a fierce glower. Willow shot him a reprimanding glance.  
  
"I asked him to come," Buffy said all casual-like.  
  
"Again, I ask, why?"  
  
Attempting to be helpful, Tara said, "Well, the more the merrier."  
  
"Is he your date?" A little crease of confusion was between Anya's brows.  
  
"No, it's not… He's not… I mean, we just…"  
  
"I'm gonna go get a drink," Spike interrupted, saving Buffy from her babbling, then turned to her. "You want anything?"  
  
She offered him a thankful and apologetic smile. "I'm good. Thank you."  
  
"You might want to reconsider not dating him. He is physically attractive, objectively speaking, and you two would be very compatible given that…" was all his vampire hearing could catch Anya say as he headed toward the bar.  
  
He wedged himself between two drunk chits and ordered a beer, then turned to walk back to the gang. He paused, suddenly unsure what the hell he was doing here, when he saw them pulling and coaxing Buffy to the dance floor.  
  
This – hanging out with her friends – was decidedly not his thing, and he'd never attempted to do it when she'd been in L.A. The only time he'd spent with the lot was when they'd be at the Summers' house or when they'd patrol. He was here solely because of Buffy. And hadn't he decided not to get any more closer to her than he already was?  
  
Flexing his jaw and bottle of cheap beer in hand, he made his way up to the balcony instead of heading back to their table. He leaned over the railing, resting his elbows on it, and looked over the scene of dancing bodies below. It didn't take long before his eyes found her. She was dancing with Willow and Xander, much like the very first time he'd seen her. And just like back then, all he could focus on was her and everything else blurred into insignificance.  
  
The upbeat song that was playing was nearing its end when she finally seemed to have sensed him watching her. She looked up at the balcony, meeting and holding his gaze until the song faded out to silence, then she disappeared from sight. A moment later, she stood beside him elbow to elbow as the next song started playing.  
  
She stared at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips as if she were trying to decipher some riddle. It must have been confusing and frustrating to her that he kept vacillating between wanting to keep her close and keeping her at arm's length, but he couldn't help it. Even he was confused and frustrated with himself.  
  
"You didn't come back." Her voice was soft and unsure, but he heard her clearly above all the noise.  
  
"Don't exactly belong there, love."  
  
She sighed and brought her gaze to the crowd below, to her friends. "I'm sorry I dragged you here. I just thought… I'm sorry."  
  
"It wasn't so bad," he said, and they looked at each other, a cheeky grin on his face, a hopeful look on hers. "I got to watch you dance."  
  
A chuckle of relief escaped her lips. "Creep."  
  
He stayed silent for some time, drinking in her nearness. Then he began, "You were dancing, the first time I saw you." He turned and leaned his back against the railing, slightly obscuring his face from her view. "You were so full of life, so carefree. Bloody poetry in motion, you were."  
  
When he gave her a sidelong glance and saw that she was still staring at him, even more closely now, he looked away and downed the rest of his beer. There he was again, spouting useless drivel. Why couldn't he just keep his damn mouth shut? It'd make things a lot easier for them both.  
  
"Let's get out of here," she said at length. She took him by the hand and pulled him down from the balcony, weaving them through the crowd to her friends.  
  
He followed along blindly, his mind fixated on nothing else but her hand in his–warm, strong, soft.  
  
"We're going to go patrol," he vaguely heard her say as she let go of his hand.  
  
Xander bleated, "But you just got here."  
  
"Sorry." Her answer almost sounded mechanical, rehearsed, and not at all apologetic. Turning to Willow and Tara, she said, "See you at home?" but before any of them could say anything else, the two of them headed out of The Bronze.

**********

They strolled most of the way through the cemetery in silence, hearing nothing but twigs snapping beneath their feet and leaves rustling in the wind. Every now and again, his hand would brush against hers or her shoulder would bump his arm and it would send little electric sparks through his veins. Clenching his fists, he would force himself to ignore it and tune into his surroundings for unwanted company instead. Wasn't that why they were there in the first place?  
  
"We haven't had a second date," she said abruptly, out of nowhere.  
  
He looked at her, startled more by what she'd said than the sound of her voice. "Doubt we ever will," he quickly replied.  
  
"That's a shame."  
  
He shifted his gaze to the left, away from her. "I know a lot of people who'd disagree."  
  
"Who cares what they think?"  
  
"You do," he said, and at her indignant sputtering, he amended, "You will."  
  
She scoffed and he didn't need to see her face to know she rolled her eyes. "You don't know that. You _can't_ know that."  
  
"I know you." He said it calmly but firmly enough to let her know it wasn't up for debate.  
  
She let out the longest breath of exasperation he'd ever heard but thankfully didn't argue further, and they wordlessly walked a few more paces until he sensed movement out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Oh, thank God," he muttered, then loudly, "Vamps." He gestured his head at the three vampires approaching them. Fledglings, by the looks of them. "You sure you're up to this, Slayer?"  
  
As the vampires picked up speed and neared them, she pulled the stake out of her waistband and settled into a fighting stance. "Way sure," she said.  
  
He nodded and came up next to her, poised for action.  
  
They fought side by side, moving with and around each other in near-perfect synchronicity and coordination as if in a fully choreographed routine. Together they dispatched the vampires with ease in a matter of moments – he hadn't even needed to vamp out.  
  
"Cool!" she exclaimed as dust settled around them.  
  
They had barely finished brushing themselves off when they spotted another fledge moving toward them.  
  
"Want to take this one?"  
  
"Yes, please," she chirped and raised her stake, her fingers curling around it instinctively.  
  
That she had the same answer for hot cocoa and slaying drew a chuckle from him. Shaking his head in amusement, he said, "Go on, then," and leaned against a nearby headstone. He lit up a cigarette as he watched her intently, taking in every duck, every block, every blow, every kick. She moved exactly as he remembered – with easy litheness, ethereal fluidity, and remarkable agility. She'd always fought as if she were dancing, and it was breathtaking.  
  
And there was also the quipping and the punning. God, he'd missed her punning.  
  
"Like I said," he hauled himself off the headstone, crushing his barely smoked cigarette out under his boot, as the fledge exploded into a cloud of dust around her stake, "bloody poetry."  
  
"That felt amazing," she breathed.  
  
"You still got it, pet."  
  
"You weren't so bad yourself," she said, her voice taking on a sultry note.  
  
He could hear her heart beating wildly in her chest, heat and adrenaline ripping through her veins—he could almost taste it. And as she curled her lips into a playful smile, her eyes straying to his lips, he knew he was on dangerous ground and had to back away, had to—  
  
Then she leaned in.  
  
He didn't know how he'd managed it but, by some miracle or maybe just his foolishness, he turned away.  
  
Buffy's face turned crimson and she took a long step back, staring at the ground as if she were counting every blade of grass by her feet. "Oh-kay. That was embarrassing," she said with a mirthless laugh.  
  
Spike felt his insides twist. He'd buggered it all up now. Why couldn't he just go with whatever the universe was giving him? That bleedin' voice in his head, one that sounded a lot like the pre-memory loss, not-so-pleasant Buffy, was to blame.  
  
"Look, Buffy—" He tried to grab her arm but she pulled away and turned from him, marching off in the other direction. "Hang on a sec, would you?"  
  
"No, sorry, let's just forget it," she tossed over her shoulder then quickened her pace.  
  
All he could do was watch her hurry down the street away from him as he stood frozen, his mind stuck like a broken record, replaying what had just happened over and over, and when he finally snapped out of his stupor, she was already a good distance away.  
  
"Bloody… I'm trying to do the right thing here!" he yelled out, raising and dropping his arms to his sides in frustration, and hoped she'd hear him. But she didn't stop, didn't so much as look back.  
  
Cursing and calling himself all kinds of names, he ran after her.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry for the delay. RL is crazy right now and I haven't had time to write or read!
> 
> I'm posting this chapter now since it has already been written for some time. The next one is not yet finished though so it may take me a while again to post. I hope anyone interested in this story hangs in there! Also, I'm sorry that this chapter is a bit short and I'm sorry about where it ends...
> 
> Thanks again to SeaPea for the beta read (any mistakes are mine, as always) and to everyone who read, liked, and commented!


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